Dragonfire
by Iron Stag
Summary: The Draugr have invaded Skyrim led by Konahrik, who has awoken from slumber and seeks to exact revenge upon the bane of his master. while the Dragonborn has been missing for years. Follow as a Legionnaire leads a group of hopeless survivors to Solitude, a Legate Is trapped inside a fort with his men, left to starve. And an everlasting search for the Dragonborn commences. (MostlyOC)
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I own none of the canon characters in this story nor the world in which it takes place, I own only the array of many OC's I have created. all credit for canon characters and the land of Skyrim goes to Bethesda Game Studios.**

Prologue

The night was alive with the sight of dragonfire.

The city's outskirts burned like dry wood, men, women, and children alike sprinted attempting to save their valuables and retreat behind the city walls.

Whiterun was amok with fire and turmoil.

The guards lined wall of the city, bows in hand and an arrow ready at string, dozens and dozens of men stood atop the battlements each fearing for _their_ lives but also determined to protect the lives of their loved ones.

_Dragonfire,_ Mychael thought as he stood along the walls with his brethren. _By the gods, how can we stop it?_ He thought.

Commander Caius made his way to the top of the battlements, followed by Irileth, the Jarl's houscarl. Mychael turned to see the look in the commander's eyes, they did not please him.

_Fear,_ he thought. _He fears dragons, just like the rest of us._

Mychael's face was what most women would say, pleasant to look upon, he was in his early twenties and his long blonde hair went down to his upper back. His stubble was freshly shaven and his face showed no sign of scars or blemish. He had felt a great amount of fear when he joined the guards at the wall, he feared dragons, all his life the bards would sing of dragons and their prowess. He had never thought he would have to judge the tales for himself.

The gates of Whiterun closed as the last of the civilians retreated into the city. Mychael winced at the sound the great wooden doors made when they shut, never to open again for quite some time.

_The waiting is killing me._ He thought.

"Wait…do you see that, Commander?" Irileth said, never taking her eye of the outskirts.

Mychael saw too. _By the nine._

From the darkness emerged dozens and dozens of creatures Mychael could not make out from the distance, but they looked familiar, like something he had seen in the crypts while trying to get the Jagged Crown with Legate Rikke Before he was stationed in Whiterun.

"Draugr," Commander Caius spoke under his breathe, but Mychael heard him. The more Mychael looked at them, the more he found a resemblance, their bony pail body glowing from the nearby flames.

"Notch!" Commander Caius shouted the order, Mychael acted without question; reaching for an arrow from his quiver and notching it at once.

"Draw!" he shouted again.

Mychael drew the string of his bow in unison with the other guards of the wall. The noise blocking out the crackle of dragonfire. Mychael tried to concentrate, picking a target in the darkness.

"Loose!"

Without question all of the guards and imperial soldiers loosed the arrows from their bows, sending dozens of Draugr flailing to the ground, the light of their eyes extinguished. Mychael traced his arrow as it sent a Draugr to its knees.

"Notch. Draw. Loose!" The Commander of the guard roared out again, and the soldiers did as they were bid once more, sending another storm of arrows upon the Draugr, who were slowly advancing towards the cities wall.

Another volley of arrows had been launched from the guards, but the Draugr themselves had aligned their archers and began to fire upon the guard, several men were pierced and fell from the top of the walls, left to be finished by either the long fall or the approaching Draugr.

The night was filled with arrows. The Draugr had made their way to the drawbridge, but soon had realized that the lever was nowhere to be found, a second group of Draugr had climbed up the battlements to come across the lever.

The guards had turned their attention to the lever, letting loose their arrows upon the Draugr, protecting the drawbridge. But more and more came until there were too many to shoot down.

One of the Draugr grabbed hold of the drawbridge lever and pulled it back, activating the bridge.

_Talos help us._ Mychael thought.

"Swords!" Commander Caius yelled, and Mychael drew his blade from its sheathe and the guard did the same.

"Hold the gate!" Commander said as the guards made their way to the gate, hoping to defend it from the Draugr as they drew closer.

The two groups met with a clash of steel, armor crunched and blood was spilt. Mychael made an attempt to not dent his new armor, but that was not the case.

He ducked as a great sword came for his head; he rose and took his blade, slicing it across the Draugr's chest, sending it to the ground. But it rose again, and when it came upon its feet it attempted to stab at Mychael, but he was too quick.

Mychael danced sideways and returned with another strike with his steel, and a great gash came upon the side of the Draugr, sending it on the ground once more, never to get up.

The battle grew ill, for every Draugr killed, five came. Many of the guards had met death upon the foot of the gates, but the Commander still held them at bay, Irileth slashed and pierced any of the undead Nords she could find, sending the others flying with her lightning bolts.

_Rrrrooooaaar!_ Mychael heard in the distance. _Kynareth save us, here it comes._

The Dragon flew above the battle scene, its scales a dark brown, its fangs long and intimidating. And Its eyes shone bright in the darkness of night, a light green; it let loose it's dragonfire from its maw. Illuminating the rider upon it.

It was a man, not a Draugr, but a man with odd clothes Mychael had never seen, his face was hidden by a mask with to tusk like object coming from the bottom, and its color seemed to be gold like.

The dragon flew down and let loose its fire upon a crowd of soldiers still upon the wall. Mychael could hear their screams from the gate. The dragon then swooped down and took a number of soldiers with its claws, flew up and then let them go in the sky, sending them falling to their deaths.

"Fall back to the city! To Dragonsreach!" the commander shouted, and the guards in the city opened the gate; the men rushed in, and the gates closed quickly to keep the Draugr from coming in.

Mychael ran, following Irileth as she hurried to Dragonsreach with three guards following.

The Dragon landed in front of the gate, the Draugr clearing out of the way for the Dragon, Mychael turned to hear as the rider shouted.

"Kill everyone, but save me the Dovahkiin!"

_The Dragonborn, but no one has seen him in years._ Mychael thought. Not even the Companions knew where the Dragonborn was.

The Dragon rammed its head into the gate, breaking it open as the Draugr rushed in; killing the guards that had ran inside. Commander Caius lead a welcoming party for the Draugr, but had soon diminished, and Commander Caius had been struck down by the enemy.

Mychael sprinted up the steps of Dragonsreach, Irileth lead the sortie, with the remaining guards following her. Mychael did not notice as his legs grew considerably tired with each step, but he kept on, his will to reach Dragonsreach pushing him forward.

"Through the doors, quickly!" Irileth shouted as she pushed open the large doors of Dragonsreach, exposing the hall. Jarl Balgruuf the Great stood from his chair, clad in his steel plate armor.

"Well?" The Jarl asked.

"The city has fallen; we must leave through the underground routes at once." Irileth said.

"No, I will not yield the city; the gate must be retaken." Jarl Balgruuf said.

"My Lord, the gate is overrun, our numbers are too few; we will be quickly overwhelmed and it will only lead to more deaths." Irileth said boldly.

Jarl Balgruuf sighed, grabbing his steel war axe from the table before him, "Let's go."

"Farengar, Proventus, come on!" Irileth said.

"Everyone, and you too, Companions." Balgruuf said.

Mychael saw her, the fabled Aela the Huntress, behind her were all the other members of the Companions, Vilkas and Farkas, the famed brothers, and everyone else.

"Come, my lord; we must go through the underground paths, I believe there is one in your quarters."

The group went on, Mychael followed behind, heading to the entrance of the escape paths, escaping the destroyed city of Whiterun.

_The Dragonborn, we have to find the Dragonborn._ Mychael thought.


	2. Tullius

Tullius

"The city was burned, general; after the battle the Draugr extracted the organs of the fallen and feasted upon them in the halls."

Legate Rikke had received word of the attack on Whiterun not two hours ago. A courier came at midnight bearing word from Whiterun written from the hand of Proventus Avenicci, stating the city was under attack and requested aid at once.

_If they had sent it earlier we might have been able to help them._ General Tullius thought. No word had come back from Whiterun other than the letter they had already received. The General knew not whether there were any survivors of the attack.

"Do we know anything new about the status of the Jarl?" Tullius asked, if Whiterun had fallen, then the greatest trade site in Skyrim was lost, not to mention the lives of the citizens who lived there.

They were In Castle Dour; in front of Tullius was the map of Skyrim, several Legates stood around the table inside the stone corridors. Several chairs were left out, but all of the Legates stood up. Rikke had been pacing around the room, muttering to herself before she spoke, the others were at a loss for words; Whiterun had been crucial for trade, and supplied fifty-percent of Skyrim's game.

"Nothing so far, our only hope is that they made their way out in time." Legate Fasendil said.

"Damn it." Tullius muttered, "Where in the name of the nine divines did those _Draugr_ come from anyway?"

"They come from the Crypts." Rikke began, "The Nordic crypts, but their numbers are few…I don't understand how such a vast army of them is possible….how many were there again?"

Legate Skulnar spoke up. "Our scouts report a vast host of around fifty-thousand Draugr in Whiterun hold as we speak."

_It's even larger than I imagined._ How could they fight off such a vast host? Tullius would have to contact the emperor in Cyrodiil, but even aid from him was not certain, and even if they did send reinforcements, it would take a month for them to march an army large enough to quell this threat, in which by then Skyrim might have already fallen to this new terror.

Tullius sat down and sank into his chair. "So…how do we stop them?" he asked, but none of the Legates had an answer for him; Tullius expected as much.

Tullius sighed, "Rikke, do we have any information on the enemy's movements?"

Rikke began, "Their new destination is unknown, but we do know that they have now begun to scour the Whiterun plains, Rorikstead and Riverwood are safe for now."

"Good," Tullius said, if the two villages were yet untouched, then it is possible to get the families in Rorikstead out before they are attacked; Riverwood was a different story. To get to Riverwood they had two choices, they could go through Whiterun Hold, but that would be too dangerous. The only logical choice they had was to go through The Reach into Falkreath, and get to Riverwood from the back.

But that would take too long, by the time they arrived, it was likely that the Draugr would have discovered the village and destroyed it along with the people inside.

"What is the status of the garrison on Fort Greymour?" Tullius asked.

"We have received no word from the men stationed there; hopefully they did not suffer the same demise as Whiterun." Rikke said.

Tullius sighed, the garrison at Fort Greymour had been sent to stop a surprise attack from the Stormcloaks, but this was a new threat entirely. _I wonder how Ulfric would have handled this._ Tullius thought. _No, Ulfric would have argued how they were Nords and deserved a more honorable death, and would have left them to do as they bid._

Ulfric would have used them as a way to cleanse Skyrim of all who were not Nords, so that no blame could come to him. but when those Draugr would attack a Nord settlement, Ulfric would be the first to call the banners and blow the war horns.

"Legate Skulnar, send a letter to the Jarl demanding him to send soldiers to see that the citizens of Riverwood are safely escorted out of the village, tell him that he is to house these survivors until the threat is dealt with." Tullius ordered.

"Yes sir!" Legate Skulnar said, and then ran out of Castle Dour, heading to the gates to find a courier, and some ink and parchment to write the message.

"First Dragons, now this…" Tullius began.

The Dragons were less of a problem than this new threat, occasionally one would pop up out of nowhere, but they could be killed quickly if dealt with in force. This new threat would not be ended anytime soon.

_Plus we had the Dragonborn back then too._ Tullius thought. Nobody knew where the Dragonborn had gone, the last time the General had seen him was during the attack on Windhelm. _Valor, I wonder where you have gone._

"We can't attack in full force, not yet; we don't have the strength and we don't have the men.

"Legate Rikke, send a message to all of the remaining Jarl's of Skyrim, warn them of this new threat and tell them to keep their eyes open."

"Yes, General." Rikke said, before finding a piece of parchment and some charcoal and writing out several letters directed to the Jarl's of Skyrim.

"Rikke, give me one of those pieces of Parchment."

She did as he commanded, and Tullius wrote on the parchment:

_Dear Emperor Titus Meade, second of your name,_

_ Skyrim is under attack by a new threat, I am requesting that you send reinforcements immediately, or else I fear that Skyrim will fall._

_ The threat will be hard for you to believe, but Skyrim is under attack by a massive host of Draugr, or the undead; I should say._

_ Please send a host large enough to quell this threat immediately._

_ Sincerely, General Tullius._

"Give this to the courier when you're done Rikke, hopefully the emperor is still the man I once knew, and pray he will help us."Tullius said.

"Indeed, general," Rikke said, continuing to write the letters to the Jarls.

Tullius would have to hope that help would come, or else Skyrim would fall to this new peril.

But even after all that they had discussed, there was still one question that lurked in his mind, unable to escape him.

Where is the Dragonborn?


	3. Hadrian

Hadrian

"Some of the farmers are saying they saw a lot of smoke rising from Whiterun capital a few days ago." The Innkeeper said.

He had been a good man, he took care of Rorikstead's only inn well enough, and he let Hadrian drink his fill without a peep, unlike the woman in Whiterun Hulda, she would not let him have more than one flagon of mead.

Hadrian was an elf, a Dark elf, to be exact. His skin was the typical grey of most Dunmer. Hadrian had been an average sized man, he did not tower over others as the High Elves, but he was not short either. His muscles were not bigger than melons, like some of the brutish Nords he had encountered; but he had muscles all the same. Hadrian was clad in simple travelers clothes, a blue and black shirt partnered with black pants, fit for comfortable travel.

Hadrian's eyes had been a dark red, common amongst Dunmer. His face was covered in short stubble and light red war paint across his eyes. He thought it made him look fearsome, an attribute worthy of a retired Legionnaire.

He had served the Legion for ten years, he fought in the great war against his own kind, they might not have been Dark elves, but the Altmer were Mer; just like he was.

"Probably a house fire, if you have a city almost entirely made of wood then you're going to have a problem every now and then."

The Innkeeper agreed, "You're probably right, some folk around here were talking of Dragons; I had hoped that was not the case."

"Trust me, if a Dragon was nearby, we would know." Hadrian said, and to that he lifted his flagon to his lips and drank his fill, finishing it in only a few moments.

"More mead?" The Innkeeper asked.

"No, but a sweet roll would be nice." Hadrian said, he had not tasted a sweet roll in months, and now was a good chance before he would have to leave in the morning.

His destination was Markarth, he heard the Silver-Bloods had need for some hired muscle; it's not like Hadrian had anything else to do.

Hadrian liked this town, it was quiet; something that Hadrian preferred over the busy streets of Whiterun Capital. He would buy a house here and live in Rorikstead for the rest of his days, but there were none for sale and even if there were Hadrian could not afford it. When he came for came back from serving the Legion, Hadrian had hoped to go and live with his brother and sister in the Grey quarter in Windhelm, but they suffered an untimely death in a very serious encounter with the local Nords.

"Here you go, a fresh sweet roll." The innkeeper said as he set the plat upon the counter. Hadrian looked at it greedily; he may have been a serious elf, but he enjoyed the occasional sweet roll.

He bit into the dough, the sweet roll reminded him of home, his childhood; when his mother and sometimes his older sister would make him a sweet roll, if he was lucky he would get one straight from the tavern.

"Thank you." Hadrian said, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a gold coin for the man. He accepted it gratefully "You're welcome."

He ate his sweet roll in peace, savoring every bite; it tasted as good as he remembered.

"My son should be back anytime soon, he was headed to Whiterun to sell some of our crops to the markets in the capital."

Hadrian pulled out another gold coin from his pocket, "I would like a room for the night if you can spare one."

"Of course, just head upstairs, first door on your right." The innkeeper said, taking Hadrian's gold coin.

Hadrian withdrew from the stool, turned around, and started towards the staircase. The wood under him creaked as he walked upon it, at least until he was climbing up the staircase. Each step further exhausted his legs, it had been a long day in the fields, although he did not venture far from the village; he still successfully brought back some deer for the townsfolk, and for himself as well.

He found his room up the stairs and to the right as the innkeeper said. Inside had been a relatively small bed. The blankets were in place and there was one single pillow. It was small, but it would serve. Also in the room was a dresser, on top was a copy of "The Talos Mistake."

Hadrian found himself in bed not a few moments later, soon his eyes began to shut; and he rested for the long journey ahead.

Hadrian found himself awake and out of bed soon after to the sound of screams.

He quickly got out of bed and dressed himself, equipping his sword belt and bow. Putting his dagger in its sheathe and quickly started downstairs. Whatever these people were screaming about, it could not be good.

He found the innkeeper and another, a young man; from the looks of him. Hadrian assumed that it must have been the innkeeper's son, Erik.

Erik shouted at his father, "Father, we need to get out of here, now!"

The two saw Hadrian as he approached them, "Oh, thank the gods," the innkeeper said. "Come with us, we have to go, the village is under attack."

"From what?" Hadrian asked, "Stormcloaks?"

"Draugr," Erik replied.

"Draugr?" Hadrian had heard tales of crypts in Skyrim haunted by the dead, wandering the halls, never left to rest until their second life was ended by an unlucky traveler.

"Come on, Lets-"

The innkeeper was interrupted by a banging on the door, a heavy, strong banging that caused the wooden door to crack in several areas. Erik and the innkeeper backed up, and Hadrian reached for his sword belt, unsheathing his long steel blade.

There was another strong ram on the door; Erik unsheathes his simple Iron sword, and the innkeeper found a knife on the counter.

Another bang came upon the door, and then another, until the door eventually came down in one final ram. And from the outside ran in two Draugr, all in their undead malice. Hadrian was appalled as he looked at them, their bones were visible and their eyes were a shining blue light. One wielded a long greatsword, the other a simple axe.

The Draugr wielding the axe charged, Hadrian backed up in response; and jumped back as the Draugr swung it's axe at him; barely evading the blow. Hadrian responded with a quick slash of his blade across the Draugr's chest, but it seemed unaffected by the injury.

Erik charged forward, providing Hadrian with aid, his simple iron sword doing more damage than Hadrian's had ever done as he stuck his blade deep inside the skull of the opposing Draugr, sending it stumbling to the ground, the blue light fading from its eyes.

Hadrian charged at the second Draugr, but soon leaped to his right when it brought down its huge greatsword upon him, causing a crack in the wooden floor.

Hadrian retaliated with a powerful blow with his sword, hammering down at his foe over and over again. He thought that he had finished his enemy, but it got back up from it's knees, its greatsword flying up with it.

Hadrian barely leapt out of the way in time, but the greatsword caught him in the chest, and gave him a minor injury. _No worries,_ he thought, _I have dealt with worse._

Hadrian lashed out a flurry of swift strokes with his blade upon the Draugr, slash after slash, he continued to bring pain upon the opposition until the Draugr staggered back lowering it's blade, to which Hadrian answered with one final strike with his blade at the Draugr's head.

He withdrew his blade from the Draugr's now finally dead corpse. Erik and the innkeeper rushed up behind him, "Let's get out of here." Hadrian said, and they ran out of the inn through the now open space that once had been the door.

The few guards that had been stationed at Rorikstead were now either dead or caught in the battle, Hadrian watched in horror as women and children were slain by the undead Draugr, not even attempting to fight back.

"Come on, let's go!" Hadrian shouted, sprinting past the onslaught, Erik and the innkeeper not far behind him.

They ran past death and destruction, Hadrian could not count how many Draugr there were, but as he turned back he could see that more and more were coming from the Whiterun plains.

At last he saw one Draugr, who held back, but he did not look exactly like the rest, its armor was finer and covered his body almost entirely, and he watched as it raised its arm, releasing a large ball of fire from its very own hands. The fire went and crashed into the nearest home, blowing off the entire roof and leaving the rest engulfed in flame. The burnt wood fell upon the ground, hitting one guard in the head, knocking him out.

He heard the innkeeper whimper, and turned to face him; "Come on, we have to head for safety."

Erik and the innkeeper ran off along the road, away from the burnt remainder of Rorikstead, Hadrian went with him, but stopped to look back once more in horror, and watched as the village burned.


	4. Eleriand

Eleriand

"We have work to do, girl; now come on."

Eleriand had found himself welcomed into Vingalmo's castle not three years ago; the day that the Lord of the castle had found himself leaving on a mission, never to return. Eleriand had never met the man, but from the words the girl had told him; he was the greatest Lord the court had seen since Harkon.

Eleriand was a High Elf, his parents hailed from the Summerset Isles, though he himself had been born in Riften, the "Jewel." of Skyrim.

Eleriand had been infected with Vampirism by a Dark Elf named Garon Marethi, who then invited him to live among them, as payment for the incident. Or at least that's what he told others.

Eleriand had been tall, like most his age; though the golden color of his skin had escaped him when he embraced the full powers of the vampire; now he was as pale as the snow, as if he had never felt sunlight; not that he wished to. His face had short stubble on the chin and just over the lip, but it was barely noticeable from far.

Vingalmo had sent Eleriand to find the Nights Ring, an artifact hidden deep within the depths of Nordic Crypt barely outside of Whiterun; Vingalmo seemed to need it for his own purposes.

Vingalmo had been angry with Eleriand the last time they had spoken; "Come back with that Ring or you'll wish you were never born." Eleriand would not return empty handed, no matter the cost.

Vingalmo had sent some girl to accompany Eleriand, Eleriand knew her name, but he often pretended he didn't. simply referring to her as "Girl."

Her hair had been jet black, her skin pale, but it suited her well. She was clad in Vampire Royal armor, red and black, leaving her chest bare. She was a beautiful woman, Eleriand had to admit that; but he did not fancy her, he must do his duty, nothing would distract him.

From what she told him, the girl was the daughter of Lord Harkon, the lord feared by most but respected by all. At least except from her. She hated and loved her father; because of this she could never stop contemplating in her head whether she made the right choice in ending his life.

They had entered the Plains of Whiterun by midnight, with the full power of the night on their side. They were at least ten miles away from the capital; and Rorikstead was not ten minutes away, they crept through the darkness, evading Giants, Sabre cats, mammoths, and worse.

"You see that?" the girl began, "There's smoke rising from Rorikstead!"

"Probably just a house fire, nothing to worry about, now come Serana, we still have work to do."

The girl then went silent, to which Eleriand was thankful, he did not wish to have their location compromised, and then get attacked by a group of bandits or a raging wolf.

When they finally ventured close enough to the Nordic Crypt, Eleriand noticed around five figures standing around it, all though from the distance Eleriand could not identify who or what they were.

"Looks like five mortals up ahead." Eleriand said.

"Come on, we can take them." The girl said with eager in her voice.

"Be patient, if are quiet we can take them out quickly." Eleriand whispered quietly.

Eleriand drew his bow from his back, reaching slowly for an arrow from his quiver. Serana readied her lightning bolt spell. Eleriand nocked the arrow, putting it to string, and drew it slowly; soon these fools would taste the power of an elven bow.

He loosed the arrow, sending it to air with the soft sound of the wind, landing straight in the small of the back of one of the figures, sending it face first into the ground.

The other figures son turned around, Serana loosed her lightning bolt spell upon another, sending it flying back. They rushed forward, Eleriand soon identifying them as Draugr.

Serana lashed forward, dagger in hand, sending quick strikes to the Draugr, Eleriand soon unsheathed his sword from his sword belt; rushing forward, eager for battle.

He leaped inward, striking with steel an force upon the enemy. Serana handled the other two as Eleriand dealt with the creature before him.

The Draugr's mace was like no other Eleriand had ever seen, the spikes jutted out into curves meant to tear out the flesh as well as break the bones. Eleriand made sure to keep his distance as he approached the Draugr.

It swung it's mace to and fro, forcing Eleriand to take a few steps backward, one hit from that and he would be lying limp on the ground, never to get up. He stuck his sword out and attempted to stab the Draugr, but it knocked the sword out of his hands with its mace.

_This isn't good._ Eleriand though. He jumped back, to get out of the Draugr's reach, but it responded by leaping forward with mace in hand, sending it flying down at Eleriand. He barely escaped without an injury, but he had to get his sword back, fast.

Eleriand drew his dagger, it was too small and if he got too close the Draugr would mash him to pieces with the mace. He would have to improvise somehow; and then it came to him.

He threw the dagger right at the enemy, sprinting for his sword in the process, the Draugr leaned back to dodge the dagger, but was too late in the attempt to strike Eleriand down. He rose with sword in hand and sliced upward, creating a gash in the Draugr's chest. Eleriand then finished with one final strike, as he bore down his sword upon his foe.

Serana had already defeated one Draugr when Eleriand turned to her direction. Witnessing her plunge her dagger up the Draugr's jaw; and sheathed it quickly.

"So…I believe the score is 3-2 in my favor." Serana smiled.

"This is no game; we have a job to do." Eleriand replied coldly.

"You're no fun." Serana replied, walking past the still Eleriand towards the crypt.

In truth, Serana was of higher rank and importance than Eleriand was by far. But she did not act like it, neither did she assert herself, letting Eleriand tell her what to do, without fighting back. A shame, Eleriand sensed she would have been a good leader.

They were reunited at the Nordic Crypt atop the hill. A dusty and dirty old thing from the looks of it, a flight of stairs led them below to the main entrance.

Eleriand had been to only a few Nordic Crypts ever since the excavation at Saarthal before he had been turned, back when he studied at the College of Winterhold. Back then he had feared for his life as they delved deeper, and when they found the Eye of Magnus, it was like nothing Eleriand had ever seen. Since then he has longed to scour another Nordic tomb, the sense of discovery had always been an addicting feeling to Eleriand.

They made their way down the Nordic stairs, Eleriand kept an eye on Serana as they went down. _If she wasn't his, I might have taken my chances with her._ He thought. _No matter, I made a promise, he trusted me to protect her while he was gone, and no personal desires could come in the way._

They approached the door, it was unlocked. Not surprising, travelers or looters would often come inside these very crypts to steal valuables, though not many got past the Draugr and lived to tell the tale.

"Let's just get this over with." Serana said quietly, though Eleriand could hear her. She opened the door slowly, quietly, probably trying not to attract attention.

Inside was a short hallway, lit by several candles held close to the ceiling; the ground was made of stone, so Eleriand's footsteps could be heard unless he moved slowly. Serana cared not if she was heard, she walked all the way down, her footsteps echoing in the distance; she grabbed a the torch hung up next to the entrance and led the way. Eleriand readied his sword, Serana did no such thing.

The cavern had led to an immensely open space; there were no towers or tombs, just a whole bunch of nothing. Eleriand searched for a door or an exit, but there was none; he had never seen such a short crypt before; he could not see the Nights ring anywhere either. _I hope we came to the right place._

"Look, over there." Serana whispered, pointing straight forward, Eleriand saw it too; a man, clad in odd robes that Eleriand had never seen, instead of a face Eleriand saw only a mask. The robes were of gold and red, draped down to his legs; his mask was golden, and it was as if two small boars' tusks were protruding from the mask; the man pulled on a chain on the wall next to him.

The whole back wall suddenly shook and opened slowly, the man did not flinch or move; but he heard Serana gasp, and Eleriand was astonished.

He watched as behind the wall dozens and dozens of Draugr emerged, wielding swords, axes, flails, longswords, maces, bows, and war hammers. They marched forward, stopping just before the man, who still stood at the same spot.

"By the blood of my ancestors…" Serana whispered to herself. Eleriand was astonished, never had he seen so many Draugr together. What was this man doing?

"A new dawn is coming." Eleriand heard the man say.

There was no possibility of Eleriand finding the Nights Ring now, if he went down there, the Draugr would cut him down, limb from limb; and who knows what they would do to Serana. _No, Vingalmo will just have to live without it. _If push came to shove and Vingalmo tried something on Eleriand, then he would have to leave; but not without Serana. _I promised him I would protect her._

"_Zu'u Konahrik, Zu'u lost daal!"_ The man shouted, and the Draugr all raised their weapons and let out a shout, almost like a war cry.

"I am Konahrik, I have returned." Serana said, "That's what he said." _did he teach her the dragon language as well? _Eleriand thought.

The man spoke again in his terrible tongue. "_Daar Lein los dii!_"

"The world is mine." Serana translated.

"_Nust wo ni qiilaan fen kos duaan!" _

"Those who do not bow will be devoured." Serana whispered to Eleriand.

"_Dovahkiin, hin kah fen kos bonaar!_" the man shouted.

Serana hesitated for an unknown reason. "Dragonborn…your pride will be humbled."


	5. Dain

Dain

The Draugr stormed the walls of Fort Greymour.

The Legionnaires held them at bay; and the Draugr broke against the walls like water on rock. Arrows rained down at the Draugr, and the more that came, the more that fell.

The Legionnaires had just enough men to man the walls, three-hundred Imperial soldiers bred for battle and war held back masses of undead; lead by Legate Dain of Bruma, a city located in Cyrodil. He had been stationed in Skyrim to help General Tulius end the Stormcloak threat; but the one he currently faced was much more difficult to quell.

Dain could not count how many stormed the walls, but he estimated at least a few thousand, assuming that the large host they had been warned about was nowhere near their location and was not on their way that instant; if they were…Dain would not be able to stop them.

Dain was a very muscular Imperial, a big man with a bigger sense of duty. His hair was kept very short, from a distance some might think him bald; the very short grey beard showed of his age, fifty-seven he was, but he still fought like a young man.

When Dain questioned General Tulius' decision to put a garrison in Fort Greymour, Tulius looked at him, and said "Inside the walls of Greymour, One-hundred men could repel five-thousand. Dain had learned to believe those words; it was the only hope he had.

Outside the walls were a sea of undead so large it was as if they were actually in the middle of the ocean; Dain could not see past the road leading to Greymour, the dark rendered him helpless and enabled him to see how many more enemies were coming. All he could see were distant flames far off in the distance; smoke rising; he could smell it from here.

Arrows flew back and forth; the men on the walls rained fire upon the helpless Draugr down below. They tried to get the ladders upon the walls to climb but the Legionnaires kicked them down before they could even start. It seemed as if the battle would go well…at least for now.

Dain stood on the battlements; eyeing down as his men held their own. He saw as Draugr after Draugr fell on the ground, the blue light fading from their eyes. They tried to retaliate, sending arrows of their own, but the walls were too high, and the men such a small target, few inside the walls were killed; good news for the Legion.

Dain saw as the young new recruit ran up to him, he was a nobleman's son, probably still imagined in his head that he was to be some hero and that war would bring him Honor and glory, but Dain knew the truth of it, there was no honor is killing; only duty.

He was relatively young, no older than fifteen; a small boy for his age with light blonde hair and a smug, satisfied face that Dain hated; all the rich men from Cyrodil had it, a smile that oozed arrogance, those were the type of people that Dain despised.

"Legate, the message for the courier is ready!" he said, panting as he finished climbing up the stair to the walls.

"Good, tell the courier to bring the message to the General in Solitude; and quickly."

"Indeed sir, I will do it at once." And he ran back down, screaming, "Courier! Courier!"

"Keep firing men, for your families, for your homes, for Skyrim!" Dain encouraged them; he saw as they grew tired and their spirits were fleeing them, he could not blame them, even the most brave of men would feel anguish against these odds.

The boy ran up a few moments later, shame on his face; Dain readied himself for whatever failure had come upon the boy.

"Legate…I gave the courier the message…but…he was killed not one minute after leaving by Draugr arrows."

Dain shook the boy so hard he thought he was going to take his head off; "You had one job boy, to send the message! Are you as useless as you are dumb! Go and write another one, except this time, you go and _you _take the message!"

Dain knew he overreacted, but the boy had failed, he should have told the man to go out the back way, where no Draugr yet resided, now the boy would either use common sense, or meet a less than honorable demise.

The boy had fear stricken all over his face. "Sir, please…have mercy!"

"Stop your bellyaching, if you go out the back way, you won't be harmed…well, unless some Stormcloaks or a Troll get you."

The boy suddenly back away, and cried out, "Anywhere is better than here!" and bolted faster than a wolf when sighting prey.

_Hope he doesn't get killed._ Dain thought, that letter requested reinforcements to help defend the Fort, if it did not get to Tulius, then all hope would be lost.

He turned suddenly as a two dozen ladders flew up out of nowhere, instantly clanging onto the walls; a steel grapple was attached to the handles, plunging itself into the stone, keeping it there.

"Kick the ladders down!" Dain shouted, but the grapple was imbedded too deep into the stone, it could not be kicked down; the men attempted but failed at every account.

_These ladders are different._ Dain though while shouting, "Swords! Swords!" unsheathing his own, the other soldiers followed, readying themselves for the bloodshed ahead. They had the advantage before, but no wall could defend them if the enemy was atop the battlements.

They came in full force, dozens climbed off the ladders, the men held them there for a while; cutting down the first few that came up, but soon there were as many Draugr as there were Legionnaires on top of the walls; Dain speed forward from the battlements to the stairs leading towards the walls; making his way to help the men.

They held their own on the walls, Dain swept and sliced one Draugr and then another, continuing his streak, counting in his head how many he had taken down. _Seven._ He thought.

The clangor of steel on steel could be heard for miles, as could the cries of the men and Draugr alike as they were being cut down by their enemy. From where Dain stood, it looked like they were holding them at bay, but they could not keep it up forever.

Dain was pushed back by an unknown force, but luckily he still remained on the walls; some other men were not as lucky, falling down from the walls onto the ground in the courtyard, Dain could not imagine their pain.

He saw the source; a Draugr not ten feet away, Dain assumed he was of higher importance than the other Draugr due to his armor; it seemed as if two horns sprouted upward from the top of its helm. In its hand it grasped a double0sided, ancient Nord sword; the Draugr held it in all its malice, towering above the rest like a castle above a cottage.

Even in his old age Dain's body still allowed him to get up quicker than he intended; ready for a fight worth remembering, he paid no attention to the fighting around him, but focused on the only enemy that mattered at the moment.

Dain stayed put as the Draugr charged, always on the defensive; Dain put one leg backward and then another, backing up slowly. The Draugr struck down at Dain, but he held it at bay, catching its sword with his own.

Their swords were locked into each other, Dain pushed forward with all his might; and the Draugr did as well. But Dain jumped back, and the Draugr had lowered its guard, Dain took advantage of the opportunity; he stuck his sword straight in the Draugr's belly, stabbing him. _It's done._ He thought; one more victory for the empire.

But the Draugr was not defeated, he grabbed Dain's sword and threw it into the sea of Draugr, leaving Dain weaponless.

_Except for my dagger. _Dain thought, already unsheathing it so quickly he forgot he committed the act, charging forward quickly; he would have to strike fast and hard, before the Draugr could get a swing at him.

He heard the Draugr mutter of few words in an unknown tongue, a tongue that sounded so menacing and deadly that Dain would not think them in his head, and from its mouth came a great force, powerful enough to move a mountain, but something happened in Dain's body; he stood his ground, and the force did not push him; somebody in the clouds was on his side.

The Draugr did not raise its sword in time to block Dain's strike, sliding his dagger quickly across the Draugr's throat. No blood spilled, but the creature fell to its knees all the same, and Dain kicked its limp body down the walls, back into the sea of undead.

"Sir, look!" one soldier shouted at Dain, tapping his shoulder quickly; Dain saw it too; a battering ram, carried by a dozen Draugr; chanting in their wretched tongue all the while.

There was no way to repel the enemy if they got inside the walls; they were having enough trouble as it was to hold them back atop the walls. If they got inside, the battle was lost.

"They have a battering ram, aim for the Draugr! Bring them down, don't let them reach the gate!" he cried out to the archer atop the battlements, who responded quickly, Dain only hoped that they could stop the Draugr before it was too late.

He watched as the archers brought down one, then two, three, four, and kept on until arrows rained down on all of the Draugr who carried the battering ram. They dropped dead on the ground, but more came to life the ram once again.

They reached the gate, the archers not killing them in time, Dain watched in horror as they rammed into the gate, over and over again, the wood cracking and chunks flying everywhere, a few more hits and they were done for.

"Inside! Fall back men! Fall back into the keep!" Dain shouted, and all of the soldiers heard his cry, rushing from the walls along with Dain towards the keep of Fort Greymour, running away from their doom.

Dain rushed into the keep, around one-hundred men followed, _so many have fallen._ He thought, before they had three-hundred, now they have barely enough to manage the walls.

The entirety of the remaining Legionnaires made their way inside, and Dain saw as the ram finally broke down the gate; and the Draugr stormed the courtyard; "Pull the lever! Bring the gate up!"

The lever was pulled and the metal gate went up slowly, barely closing the entrance as the Draugr came close. Dain could hear their voices even from outside; but even through the death and destruction, Dain felt safe inside.

_We'll be in here for a while._ Dain thought. _I hope the boy gets the message to Tulius._

**Hey guys, Iron Stag here; I felt that it would be important to know that chapters 3,4, and 5, all take place simultaneously. So yes, Hadrian and the burning of Rorikstead, Eleriand and Serana's run in with Konahrik, and Dain's battle at Fort Greymour all happen at the same time.**

***HailStannis* **


	6. Gweryan

Gweryan

"Now girl, tell me; what did you see?"

Winterhold had been a boring and terrible place to some; but to those that truly looked, they would find unimaginable things amongst the folk here, and Gweryan had witnessed it for himself in the little time he had been with the College.

Gweryan was a Wood elf, not prone to bows or hugging trees, he was civilized, unlike most of his race. He had been clean shaven, and of average height, well for a man; by elven standards he was short, but he did not mind. His face had been almost square like, and his light, sand colored hair was short, barely as thick as his little finger. He was clad in simple brown mage robes, and a regular pair of boots.

He had been with the College for only a few months; a request had been made for his presence, the college had need for his mind; it was said that a girl in the town had the gift of prophetic dreams, Gweryan was a scholar on the subject, a seer had not been present in Skyrim for a hundred years! And for Gweryan to be the one chosen to help the poor girl was good news to his ears.

He had found the family in Winterhold, inside a fairly small home of wood, as were most of the buildings in the town; it was a family of four, a mother, father; a son, and a daughter; who Gweryan had just met a few days ago in the tavern, hanging around with her friends.

So far, at least from what Savos Aren had told him, everything the girl had seen in her dreams had come true; the details were vague of course, and it took the scholars in the college weeks after the event actually happened to realize that the dream foretold it. That is why they requested his help.

The girl had been no older than fourteen; and was seemingly going to become a very beautiful woman when she was older; her skin was light, as are all nords; and her hair was long and dark, falling down to her back, her name was Arianna, a rare name for nords; but Gweryan did not question it.

So far, in the girls dreams, from what Savos told him, the girls had seen the coming of dragons, the side that would win the civil war; and the death of the harbinger of the companions, Kodlak Whitemane.

"Arianna…what did you see?"

The girls looked up at Gweryan, "I saw…A dragon…a white dragon, with the head of a man, and it flew over Skyrim, shouting; and then flew back up into the clouds."

"Interesting, and by shouting do you mean it roared, or was it shouting, as in the dragon language?" Gweryan asked.

"Shouting, as in the dragon language,"

That was interesting, the dragons had all disappeared of late, none had been spotted in months; perhaps this dream told of where they had gone; but the head of a man…did this refer to Akatosh…or something else.

"What else did you see?"

The girl paused, staring at the ground, "I dreamt a tower of stone, blood splattered all over…and a black sea all around; and inside the tower was…a dead man; on his throne, he was mourning for the lost, murmuring 'Stop them.' and…that's it."

This deeply disturbed Gweryan, he had no idea what this meant, there were many towers made of stone in Skyrim, it was impossible to know which one. As for the black sea…Gweryan knew not of what it meant.

"Was there anything else; anything at all?" Gweryan asked, hoping for an easier, less vague vision that he could easily interpret.

"The last thing I saw was a great crowd coming from the sunset, and a loud blast of noise came from their direction; and leading them was a man with a crown upon his head; and everyone bowed to him."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

"Thank you my dear, I will see you tomorrow, alright; have a nice day." Gweryan told her, before starting to the door and leaving the home, closing the door behind ho, quickly. He had been given this assignment in order to interpret this girls dreams in time, but he had no answers for the Scholars, he would have to consult with some members of the College.

He made his way to the bridge of the College, Faralda stood on duty, waiting to test any new recruits who might wish to enter, Gweryan gave her a nod as he passed her; and she returned one back. Gweryan kept on; trying not to look down at the rubble of the Great Collapse.

He came upon the gate of the College, and as he approached it, the gate automatically opened for him, allowing Gweryan to proceed. He did as such, heading straight for the Hall of the elements, he had to get to the Arcanaeum, and he had to speak with Urag and the others.

He entered the hall of the elements, and speedily opened the door to the Arcanaeum, running up the stairs, his legs growing tired as he did so. He saw Urag sitting by his bookshelves as he always was, and also there was Enthir and Arniel Gane. Just the people he needed.

"Gweryan, what did the girl say?" Urag asked.

Gweryan speedily made his way to Urag, Enthir and Arniel rose from their chairs as well; every day they would meet to discuss what the girl had seen.

"Alright, I met with her; and she told me what she saw.

"First she saw a White Dragon, with the head of a man, flying around Skyrim, shouting, and then flew back up into the clouds."

"Hmm…interesting," Urag murmured.

"I thought it might mean Akatosh…or something to do with him." Gweryan said.

"No," Enthir began, "Akatosh is always resembled as a man with the head of a Dragon…this is different."

"Flying over, shouting…and then went back into the clouds…" Arniel Gane began, "Could it mean something about the disappearance of the dragons?"

"Possible," Gweryan started, "But if it does, than what does the man's head mean? And she said it was a white dragon…could the color of the dragon bear any significance?"

"Maybe," said Urag, "But probably not, white, green, brown, or black, a dragon is still, and will always be a dragon."

"You may be right." Gweryan said. "Next, she said she saw a Stone tower, and blood was spilled all over it; and a black sea was all around it, and inside…was a dead man, on his throne; mourning for the lost, murmuring 'Stop them.' What could that mean?"

"Interesting…a stone tower," Enthir began, "Stone isn't very abundant in Skyrim cities…could this be referring to something of Dwemer make?"

"A good assumption, you may be right," said Arniel, "Perhaps the Tower of Mzark?"

"Perhaps." Gweryan said, "And blood splattered all over, and a black sea surrounding it; and the dead man on his throne, mourning; what does that mean?"

"The blood probably means death, or battle; maybe there will be a large battle at the tower of Mzark?" Urag replied.

_These men are doing my job better than I am._ Gweryan thought, so far nothing these three have said makes any sense, the tower of Mzark was in the middle of nowhere; why would there be a battle for such an undesirable piece of land?"

"The dead man, on his throne; mourning for the lost…" Gweryan began, "Perhaps the dead man on the throne is some type of war leader? He is on a throne after all."

"Even the Jarls have thrones, anyone can have a throne, I can sit down in this chair, and if I call it a throne, it is one! A throne Is nothing more than a glorified chair; we can't assume that it is anyone of importance…perhaps the throne means something…dominance, perhaps? Or power?" Urag said.

"He was saying "Stop them." What could that mean?"

"Well," Enthir began. "Perhaps he wanted a new enemy to be stopped…or perhaps…you said he was mourning for the lost…maybe this means death, and he was telling them to stop fighting?"

"Perhaps," Arniel sighed, "I see no other option on that one, very mysterious…yet it seems so simple as well."

"What else did the girl say?" Urag asked.

"The last thing she saw was a great host coming from the sunset, and from the host came a loud noise; and the leader of the host wore a crown, and all the men bowed down to him."

The three seemed to have an answer for Gweryan, thankfully; Gweryan did not know what these dreams meant; and he was ashamed that he didn't, they College invited him to find out what they meant, and so far he was as confused as a little boy when scolded by his mother for saying his first vulgar word.

"Well, the host from the sunset must mean an army, the significance of the sunset in unknown to me though." Gweryan told them, "And the loud noise might be war horns, but I'm not sure."

"Very plausible…that seems the logical answer…and the man with the crown?"

"At first I thought it could be the High King of Skyrim, but I remembered that Elesif will be Queen after the moot is over, and she is no war leader…perhaps the emperor?"

"Nonsense, what would the emperor be doing in Skyrim? I say it could mean that a new High King will be selected, someone with more skill and leadership, Elesif's claim will most likely be swept aside." Arniel Gane said.

What the others said seemed to make sense to Gweryan, he knew not whether they had interpreted these dreams correctly; but he hoped they did.

"Alright then, I say we look into this, send a message to the Court Wizards of what we have found, do not send them to the Jarls; they don't trust us." Gweryan told them, "Good day my friends, I will be back tomorrow with more news on this girls dreams."

The three bid Gweryan farewell, and quietly made his way out of the Arcanaeum, he knew not if they had done justice to the meaning of this girls dreams. He would have to see what the Court Wizards say about these dreams.

He only hoped that whatever was going to happen, they could warn the people in time.

**Hello people, its Iron Stag here; now I know that this hasn't been the most action packed chapter, so I'm sorry if you were disappointed, but I challenge you all to find out the meanings of this girls dreams! Do you believe the interpretations of the scholars, or do you have your own? **


	7. Eleriand ll

Eleriand

"Get inside the boat, girl."

They had begun their journey back to Vingalmo's castle just after they had stumbled into the tomb and found the mass of Draugr inside; Eleriand did not need to say anything, he just made his way out, and Serana followed.

Serana did not seem the same after their run in at the tomb, she had been acting different ever since that night; usually she would be muttering to herself, holding a piece of parchment in her hand, she seemed frustrated, but Eleriand did not know how to help her, he had to convince her that she was a nuisance.

In truth, Garon Marethi had never bit Eleriand; he had become a vampire aiding the Dragonborn in helping the town of Morthal quell a new vampire threat, contracting it from a powerful man named Movarth. He knew the Dragonborn for many years, and considered him his closest friend, Eleriand gladly volunteered to watch over Serana when he said he was leaving; he did not say where, and Eleriand did not ask.

So far he had done a good job in keeping her safe, no harm had come to her in the three years he has been a member of Castle Volkihar. But soon Eleriand would have to return to Vingalmo, who clearly stated that if he did not come back with the Nights Ring, that that failure would be his last, and he would serve as a feeding thrall for the others.

They had made their way to Icewater Jetty, a small dock with one boat and an oar, Eleriand did not expect Serana to do the rowing so he grabbed the oar himself.

"Serana…get in the boat."

"Alright, killjoy; I was just admiring the beautiful Skyrim weather." Serana smiled.

Eleriand did not. "In!" he said, pointing at the boat, Serana finally obliged, rolling her eyes as she stepped in the boat and sat down.

Eleriand began to row, it was easy at first, but as his arms began to tire it became more difficult as time went on. He had to stop and take a break every other minute.

"So…what are you going to do when we get back?" Serana asked.

"Assuming Vingalmo doesn't kill me…feed." Eleriand responded.

The two were silent, not speaking to each other; the only sound that could be heard was the sound of the paddle hitting the water, and the hawks above.

"What was that piece of parchment you're carrying around?" Eleriand asked.

"What parchment?" Serana said, looking away.

"The piece of parchment you carry around and look at every night." Eleriand said.

"I…have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, girl." Eleriand said, menacingly.

"Fine…fine…it is a letter…that our Lord sent me…two years ago."

"Oh I see…your lover." Eleriand said, pretending not to know the Dragonborn.

"I wouldn't say that-"

"He loved you, you loved him; he is your lover." Eleriand said slowly, rowing at the same time.

Serana simply sighed, and stopped talking; looking onward to the castle that they approached.

Eleriand finally reached the small dock near Castle Volkihar, stepping onto the dirt, he considered helping Serana out of the boat, but did no such thing, and left her to get out herself.

She emerged from the boat, and the both of them made their way from the dirt shore to the stone bridge that led to the immense castle known as Castle Volkihar, currently ruled by Vingalmo, much to Orthjolf's distaste. Serana followed close behind and Eleriand speedily made his way to the gate, he did not want to know how Vingalmo would react, since he was almost always prone to anger in Eleriand's presence.

The watchman saw them coming. "Open the gates!" he called out, and slowly the metal gate rose, allowing the two to slowly make their way to the door; the watchman respectfully bowed when Serana passed him, but did not such thing when Eleriand walked by.

The two opened the doors slowly, allowing the creaking noise of the opening doors to echo through the halls, which was always disturbingly silent, only the sound of feasting and drinking of blood and flesh could be heard.

They made their way past the stone gargoyles and down the steps; looking onward to the hall as they went. Full of vampires feasting on live mortals it was; and Vingalmo could be soon in the midst of it all, smiling with appeal, sitting In a chair of someone of his stature. All the vampires suddenly stopped feasting and looked directly at Serana and Eleriand; who slowly made their way to the middle of the court.

Vingalmo, an elf of pale white skin and tall height smiled at them, "Serana, it good to see you return." He said, "I trust the two of you have the Nights Ring?"

"No, my Lord." Eleriand said. And suddenly the smile on Vingalmo's face was wiped away, he rose from his chair, anger in his eyes; _here we go._ Eleriand thought.

"Did I not tell you how important it was that I receive the Nights Ring? That it gives the wearer innumerable powers during the night, worthy of a vampires ownership, you think?"

Eleriand did not speak.

Vingalmo came closer, real anger in his voice. "Did I not tell you what would happen if you came without the ring?" Vingalmo said, "What is your reason for returning to me empty handed."

"The Crypt was full of Draugr…my lord, hundreds of them."

"Oh, it must be so rare to see many Draugr in a Nordic _Crypt_ isn't it? This reason is not acceptable; perhaps you should have found way around the Draugr!"

"My Lord, we would have been cut down before we could draw out blades."

"You. Are. A. Vampire. Perhaps you have forgotten that little thing. And why is it…that instead of running, you did not embrace the full powers of the night and transform into the vampire Lord?"

"I…even in the Vampire Lord form…we were still outnumbered, five minutes in one of us would have surely been killed."

"The be killed! A man who died in my loyal service is more useful to me than a craven!"

"I…forgive me my lord; I did not mean to wrong you."

"Oh, but you did!" Vingalmo began, Serana stood next to Eleriand, saying nothing. "That ring was to help our fight with the Dawnguard! Now how do you think they will react when they find out where we have been searching and take the ring for themselves?"

Eleriand did not answer, he never had an answer for Vingalmo, because he always asked questions that Eleriand did not expect.

"You have failed me for the last time Eleriand; I cannot allow you to walk out of this unscathed."

"What?" Eleriand asked.

"What would they say of my rule if I did not punish those who deserved punishment by failing me in my hour of need? I'm afraid it is time for you to pay for your failures; but don't worry, you will be treated just as fairly as the human thralls."

_Now,_ Eleriand thought, _If you don't he will kill you if you're lucky, or torture you._

Eleriand unsheathed his dagger faster than he thought he ever could; and plunged it so deep into Vingalmo's neck that he saw it protrude from the back, Vingalmo's blood splattered all over Eleriand's face, he licked some around his lips and bolted towards Serana as the other vampires had a angry look on their face, and soon drew their weapons.

He grabbed Serana from the back of her Royall armor, Serana began to thrash around violently; "Let go of me!" she continued to shout, the other vampires rushed to help their family member.

Eleriand hit Serana on the back of the head so hard he knocked her out. _Sorry, but it had to be done._ He thought, rushing up the stairs, arrows and bolts of lightning flew by him as he ran past the stone gargoyles and quickly pushed open the door with all his might.

He bolted past the gatekeeper, carrying the unconscious Serana over his shoulder, he didn't know if the other vampires were behind him, and he did not look back to check; only forward. _Keep running, don't look back._

He almost threw Serana into the boat and he leaped in and grabbed the oar; then he saw as the vampires were sprinting down the bridge, Eleriand paddled faster than he thought he could, suffering from no fatigue as he rowed away from the island. _Thank the gods its day time._

The vampires did not dare go into the water; and they could not try to hit Eleriand with arrows in fear of hurting Serana. They just stood there and watched.

_The castle will surely pass to Orthjolf now._ He thought, turning to see the unconscious Serana, he wished he didn't have to do it; but she would never come with him willingly, and he could not fail in his duty to the Dragonborn.

He continued to row, _where will I go now? _He thought, they could not return to the castle; although Eleriand was sure that Orthjolf would send him a letter thanking him for disposing of Vingalmo. They could attempt to go to one of the cities, but they would risk being discovered as vampires and burned. He had no choice.

He had to find the Dragonborn.

**Hello guys, hopefully you enjoyed this chapter; just to let me clear up a few things; the Dawnguard are still around, and the battle between the vampires and hunters is still going on. So Isran, Sorine, and everyone else is still alive; so just imagine that the "Destroy the Dawnguard." Quest never happened.**


	8. Tullius ll

Tullius

"Send the men to Fort Greymour at once."

Word had come from a young boy of noble birth that very hour; the General had opened it himself. A request for more men to take Fort Greymour; Tullius hoped it was not too late.

All the Legates present in Solitude had gathered at Castle Dour once again to hear of the news; all were grieving, and hoping that the Fort had not been taken. _We must hope that they can keep the Draugr at bay for long enough._

Only three-hundred men were stationed at Greymour, and were only meant to stop a surprise attack from the Stormcloak survivors; never had they prepared the men for an attack from their ancestors.

"We can send the men," Legate Rikke said, "But they may not arrive in time, and even if they do by some miracle…it still would not be enough to defeat the Draugr host."

"With all due respect, Legate; I think if we just send a force big enough to break through the ranks and distract them, it might give the men enough time to escape." Legate Skulnar said.

Rikke had an annoyed look on her face, Tullius knew that look all too well. "Exchange one death for the other? Send in men to die so that the men in the fort may live? How do you think the soldiers will react to that? I can guarantee you that there will be a marked rise in desertion when you break the news to them."

Tullius knew she was right, it would make no sense to send in men that will most surely die, just to save the small force at Greymour. But Tullius did not let the thought of leaving those men behind get into his head; he would save the men at Fort Greymour, if he had to ride into battle himself.

"Rikke, how many men are stationed in the military camps in the east?" Tullius asked.

"The last reports show with the combined strength of the soldiers in Markarth, Morthal, and Solitude, we have a little above ten-thousand men."

_So little._ Tullius thought, they could not hope to defeat the Draugr forces with just ten-thousand, perhaps if he could contact the camps in the west he could get some more men, but Whiterun was lost; and all the camps in the east still wouldn't raise over thirty-thousand soldiers.

"Who was left in command of Greymour?" Tullius asked.

"Legate Dain, general." Rikke answered.

"That's right, Dain…a great commander, hopefully he repelled the enemy long enough for us to respond."

Tullius remembered Dain, one of the finest Legates he had met, his men followed him without question; he inspired loyalty wherever he went, Tullius could think of no better man to handle the situation than him.

"So…how do we save those men?"

Once again it seemed like the Legates had no answer for him, which frustrated him deeply, he knew not of what to do, and he had to find out quickly, or lives would be at stake.

"I see no other option…Legate Skulnar; send a message to the military camps in Markarth and Morthal, send one to Falkreath as well, requesting their help; tell them to assemble in the marshes of Morthal; we will ride in five days."

"General…" Legate Rikke began.

"Legate Rikke, you will stay here and keep charge of the safety of Solitude while I am gone."

"General, you're making a mistake…"

Tullius interrupted her, "Send another message to the Emperor in Cyrodil, tell him that the hour is arriving, and that we once again request aid in this fight."

"Yes sir," Rikke replied hesitantly, Tullius knew that she did not agree with his choice, and perhaps he was making the wrong one; but it was what he believed to be right, it was time to take the fight to the Draugr. No longer would they cower in fear, and hide on the shadows.

Rikke began searching for a piece of parchment, as did Legate Skulnar, the remaining Legates left Castle Dour, some with relieved expressions; others with fear stricken faces, it mattered not to Tullius, there was a reason why the Emperor sent him personally into Skyrim, because he was a darn good general.

He withdrew from the room, "Good day to you Legates." And made his way out of Castle Dour, not turning back; Tullius knew Rikke was disappointed, but the General did not only listen to her counsel, and Legate Skulnar's plan made sense, only Tullius was taking it further.

He would have to assemble the men and march straight for Greymour; h Tullius only hoped he would not be delayed in the process, word on the Draugr's movements told that they had kept still and had not left the plains of Whiterun yet; perhaps they would catch them by surprise.

The sun hit his eyes like an arrow, and he immediately went to cover them with his arm, it seemed as if he was always inside that dreaded room, staring at the map of Skyrim, listening to Rikke try to convince him that Nords were normal and good people; Tullius would have none of it though, so far all the Nords had displayed was ignorance and violence, Rikke was one of the few sane Nords he had met.

He looked for Captain Aldis outside Castle Dour, and found him with the new recruits, watching them practice at archery. "Soon you will be out in the battlefield, and what you learn here, may well save your lives." He shouted out to the men.

He saw Tullius as he approached. "General," he saluted, "What brings you out here? I don't see you leave Castle Dour often."

"Just war, my friend; we plan to march to Whiterun soon."

"Truly? But we are outnumbered; the scouts say that the Draugr host seems to get larger and larger every day."

"If the number of men won wars; we would have defeated the Aldmeri Dominion in the Great War, numbers mean nothing; even a small army can defeat a large one if led by a competent leader and used with efficiency." Tullius replied.

"You may be right; I can tell you know what you're doing." Aldis said.

"If I didn't, I would not be a General." Tullius replied, watching as the recruits practiced their swordsmanship on the straw replicas; and the others practiced their archery, Tullius was impressed with their aim. But training on a target was one thing; a live man was something completely different.

"How are the recruits?" Tullius asked.

"Doing well actually," Aldis began, "I have twice the number of last year, and they seem very promising, as you can tell."

"Indeed." Tullius replied. They did show promise, and he hoped they would be of some use.

"Captain…I know you are not expecting this, but I need to take some of your men."

Aldis had a shocked face about him. "But they are just boys, some of them barely can work a bow, or swing a sword correctly, put them against those Draugr and they will be the first to fall, I promise you."

"I need the men, Aldis; surely you can understand, we need to be able to quell this threat, and a few extra men will help."

"But these are not men, they are boys! They are not rained Legionnaires, just young lads who decided to join the legion because they were either fools, drunk on glory, or had nothing to live for. Putting them in the field at this time would just be the death of them."

_There is no convincing him at this point. _Tullius thought, Aldis would never turn over the recruits even if an army of dragons threatened Skyrim; Tullius could not win this argument, and he would not force Aldis to hand them over.

"Perhaps you are right." Tullius began, "I will take my leave then, good day Captain."

"And to you, General."

Tullius walked away quickly; he should have just headed straight to the stables and gathered the guard, he gained nothing from Aldis. He would now have to get his horse and meet the men in the marshes. Hopefully they would all come. _They will come, or else the Draugr will burn their homes and kill their families, unless we stop them._

Tullius would ride to war, he had done it several times before, and this was no different. _Except this enemy has died once already, well it's time for a second one, _Tullius thought, he would meet the undead beasts in battle, he would save the men in Fort Greymour as well, along with their families, and their homes; he would do whatever he could to stop his menace, whatever he could.

To save Skyrim.

** Hey guys, me once again; in case you guys were wondering, the Stormcloaks have been defeated; so when the Stormcloaks are mentioned, they are referring to the survivors that hide in the camps.**

** Also I would like to thank the people who have reviewed this story and continue to read it so far; I have another request for you guys, tell me what you thought! Did you hate this chapter, or did you love it? Review it and tell me! It really motivates me when people review this story, so please tell me what you thought!**


	9. Mychael

Mychael

The entrance to the underground passageways had been at the base of Dragonsreach and led all the way to the Pale; a frozen field full of beasts and worse, when they emerged from the passage, the group immediately began to realize how ill-suited they were for the weather.

The group had consisted of two guards, Mychael, Irileth, the whole of the Companions, save the Harbinger, The Jarl, Proventus Avenicci, and Legate Quentin Cipius; from what Mychael knew, no one from Whiterun besides them had survived.

The words the rider had said still pondered in Mychael's mind, "Save me the Dovahkiin!" they confused him, he had asked the members of the Companions if they knew where their Harbinger had gone, but knew not of where he went or why, the last time they had saw him was while on a missions concerning their former Harbinger; Kodlak Whitemane, they would not specify what they were doing, and Mychael did not ask.

The Companions served as the Jarls bodyguards through their time together, making it to where one companion and a shield-brother/sister had to stay with the Jarl at all times, the Pale was a dangerous place; at any time a wolf or frost troll could come charging.

When they had emerged from the underground passage ways and caught sight of the frozen fields, they turned back to see smoke rising from Whiterun, and distant fires engulfing it, had it been nighttime it would have been a pretty sight if it was not Whiterun that was in flames.

_I wonder if anyone survived._ Mychael thought, he hoped someone besides themselves had made it out of the foray in time, he thought about the children he saw that played in the market, and the Gildergreen tree that had been such a beautiful sight; and the splendor and might of Dragonsreach. _It's all gone, everything._

Night and day had passed and a fire had not been built, yet the group still had no planned destination; ideas had been thrown to the Jarl, but he rejected most of them. They had suggested Dawnstar, since it was only a short while away, but he did not fancy lingering in the cold, they suggested Morthal; but he had heard of the terrible talk of vampires in that place; and let his fear get to him. but they finally decided to head to Solitude; the Jarl agreed, saying, "That's the only safe place for us now."

They still had not gotten any farther than before when they finally decided to set up camp in the area, sending Mychael to find some wood; he scrounged up a few twigs and managed to snap a few off from the nearby trees; and headed back to the group, they needed a fire, or else they were going to freeze soon enough.

Mychael did not know how to make a fire, but Aela the Huntress did, immediately grabbing hold if the wood, throwing some tinder in the mix and rubbing the wood together harder than Mychael had ever seen; it took a while, but soon a very small amount of smoke began to rise, the tinder caught the spark and soon a very small fire arose, Aela immediately ducked down to breath very softly on to flame, allowing it to grow large enough to produce warmth, everyone crowded around the small fire; and Mychael had a happy look on his face.

They had gone without dinner that night, not taking the risk; the wolves and sabre cats would surely be hunting tonight as well, and the group would surely look like a tasty treat to a pack of wolves or a group of cats.

Mychael had curled up in the sleeping bags they had brought from Dragonsreach, the fire warming his body; he slowly closed his eyes, the cold of the Pale no longer affecting him; as he fell asleep.

He awoke the next morning to the crackle of the fire and the voices of the others.

He arose to see Aela, Vilkas, and Njada all up and about sitting next to the fire, everyone else, including the Jarl was still soundly asleep; Mychael left the sleeping bag, rising and rubbing his eyes, the others noticed him.

"Finally awake then, good, we need you." Aela said.

"I just woke up…what is it?" Mychael said annoyingly.

"We need to prepare breakfast for the Jarl and the others, now is a perfect time, you will come and join us in the hunt, we may get lucky and find a wolf or a rabbit, but no deer; there are no deer here."

"Do I have to?" Mychael asked.

"If you want to eat," Njada answered.

"Fine…let's get ready then." Mychael answered, searching for his bow and sword, he wandered around in a daze, searching until Aela handed him his bow and blade; Mychael thanked her and equipped them both.

Vilkas lead the way, Mychael held his bow in hand, he could see clearly now, the morning had been worn of him and he found new energy trekking through the wilderness, following the honorable members of the famed Companions. He could not see any game or animals of any kind, but he was sure they would find something.

They traveled farther and farther from the camp, far enough to where Mychael could not identify where they had come from. He only followed the others, assuming they knew what they were doing.

Suddenly, they came to an abrupt stop, as Mychael saw that Njada had spotted a snow rabbit just by the nearest tree, it was too small a target to hit with an arrow, and it blended in too much with the snow; they would have to be quick, a dagger would suffice.

It was as if Aela heard Mychael's thoughts, unsheathing her dagger slowly, and creeping up to the unsuspecting rabbit, and before the animal knew it, Aela had struck down with her blade, plunging it through the small and helpless rabbit, grabbing its dead corpse by the neck.

"This won't be enough to feed all of us; Vilkas, bring this back to the camp, we will continue on.

"Aye." Vilkas responded, and did as Aela asked him, running back to the camp; and soon Mychael could not see him, as he was lost in the snow.

"We will continue on, there must be more out here than just one rabbit." Aela said; trudging forward through the snow.

It had gotten to the point where the snow was almost knee deep, and they moved very slowly and grew tired almost instantly. But Aela kept on urging them on, and Mychael grew to understand why people called her the Huntress.

Soon enough the sun shone brightly, and Mychael assumed that everyone at camp had woken by then, they would have to worry, or everyone would grow impatient.

Aela stopped them once again, and Mychael grew confused at first; he did not see and game, not a stag or another rabbit or even a bird, until he then knew why they had stopped.

Up ahead was an ice wolf, its fur white and its size very large, larger than most of the wolves in the Whiterun plains he had encountered, ferocious beast, but not like this one. It bared its fangs, and Aela whispered, "Don't frighten it." Njada slowly grabbed her sword hilt, and Mychael found himself reaching for an arrow from his quiver.

The wolf barked menacingly, and Mychael had already put his arrow to string, prepared to fire at any moment, Aela still stood still; and they waited.

Until all around them they heard growls.

Mychael immediately turned to his left, then behind him, he saw more wolves; about five or so had shown up out of nowhere, all baring their fangs and eyeing the three with hunger in their eyes.

_They want to eat us, and we want to eat them._ Mychael thought, Mychael aimed at the wolf directly across from him, feeling his fingers loosen ever so slightly as the seconds went on; waiting in agony, hoping to get his aim right.

"Now." Aela said.

Mychael loosed his arrow, and thanked the gods as it went straight to the wolves head, it dropped dead in seconds, and Mychael felt no sympathy for it, he had to survive, no beast would stop him.

He then drew his blade, and swung at any wolf he saw, but he continued to miss, and another wolf jumped on top of him causing him to fall in the snow on his back; Mychael out his hands on the wolves face, keeping its jaws closed and trying to push it away. Taking a risk as he let go with one hand to grab his sword that lay beside him, and plunged it straight through the wolf's body, causing it to whimper in pain, and die.

He turned and saw the others in their struggle, Aela letting a fury of slashes go to the other wolves with her dagger; impaling one and slicing another with quick but powerful strokes. Njada had been in a more dangerous situation, two wolves went for her, and she attempted to strike down at one with a powerful blow, hoping to end one wolf's live with a single swing of her sword, but she missed, and the wolf behind her leaped on top of her; knocker Njada down just as Mychael had been; but she had not been so lucky. The screams that had pierced the air had haunted Njada as one ripped out flesh from her stomach as the other mauled her face; Aela had just finished of her wolf as she saw the horror before her.

He saw as Njada Stonearm had stopped thrashing and dropped her sword. _She's dead._ Mychael thought, taking a few paces back as one wolf looked Mychael in the eye, not moving, just staring into Mychael's soul, and suddenly Mychael began to understand the nature of the beast, that it did what it did only to survive, just as Mychael had done what he had done to survive as well.

Those thoughts were ended when Aela plunged her dagger through the wolf's head in anger, and stared at Mychael in horror. Her shield-sister had just been killed before her eyes by a beast that she herself knew better than most. Aela put the dagger back in her sheathe, and crouched next to Njoda.

She said nothing, and Mychael did not either, he was shocked, a member of the Companions defeated so viscously, instead of the honorable death she deserved. Mychael never imagined that this simple hunt would go wrong.

"Head back to camp; I'm going to bury her." Aela the Huntress said.

**So I hope you guys liked the new chapter! Just to let you know, they did not take any food due to the rush they were in to leave Dragonsreach, which is why they had to hunt, and yes; I hate Njada Stonearm, that is why I decided she had to be the one to go; originally I was actually thinking Torvar…but I changed my mind.**

** Liked the chapter? Hated it with a passion? Review it and tell me!**


	10. Hadrian ll

Hadrian

They had fled the burned remainder of Rorikstead without looking back; from what Hadrian saw it seemed as if they were the only survivors.

Luckily they had not run into bandits on the road, nor any wolves or bears or any other type of dangerous wildlife. Although Hadrian wouldn't mind running into a stag or rabbit; they had not brought any food with them, nor water.

Although in the Reach Rivers had been in abundance, they had no flask to keep the liquid in so they had to drink their fill before moving on. They had to get to Markarth, and warn them of this threat.

Hadrian did not know if the Draugr followed them, it did not seem like it, but the Draugr did not move as fast, so if they were following Hadrian would never know.

The innkeeper and his son had been good company, mostly because they did not speak often and let Hadrian lead the way; they had never been to Markarth before, and were not aware of the dangers that inhabited this land.

The mountainous terrain would hold of the Draugr for a while, assuming they were coming this way, if they passed through the mountains, than maybe the Forsworn would keep them at bay for a time, before they became overwhelmed as well; and then the Draugr would march on Markarth. Markarth could be held for a time, but without a wall surrounding the city, as soon as the gate was broken, the city would be lost.

The three had been trekking up the mountains, their feet soon becoming sore; Hadrian had been glad that the innkeeper had not been like other Nords, he did not shun Hadrian because he was a Dark elf.

They had stopped in their tracks when the sun went down and nighttime came upon them; Hadrian had been the only one that knew how to make a fire, a trait you learned when serving the Legion. The others had been thankful, it was warm during the day, but in the Reach it was terribly cold by night, so they all gathered around the fire, and rested for the long day ahead.

When they awoke the next day, they immediately prepared to head towards Markarth. The city was not far away, for Hadrian had visited this land before, they were only around ten minutes away from their destination; Hadrian's stomach growled, and he began to move a little faster.

When they passed the last mountain, Hadrian looked onward and found the bridge leading to the city of stone. Markarth, the safest city in the reach; Hadrian thanked the gods that they did not find any Forsworn along the way; if so, the group would not have lived to get to Markarth.

"Come, follow me." Hadrian told the innkeeper and his son, who followed without question, they had grown to trust Hadrian, and to that he was thankful, it was difficult to find good people in Skyrim these days.

The question of where those Draugr had come from had been in Hadrian's mind since the day they had attacked Rorikstead, he had heard they came from the Nordic Crypts, but there were only a few dozen in Skyrim; and none had such a vast force within them; not even Saarthal, the largest ancient Nordic city in history had housed as many Draugr.

Hadrian, followed by the innkeeper and his son had run down the hill towards the stone bridge, a few guards stood at the base; and as they went down Hadrian greeted them kindly. But they, unlike the innkeeper and his son; did not seem to possess the same tolerance to elves.

Hadrian ignored them, and kept on moving forward; he saw a famer tended by the farmer to his right; picking the leeks he had planted for harvest. Then Hadrian looked to his left and saw a mine, and workers using he smelter; but then he looked forward.

He saw guards preparing barricades and other contraptions, readying ballistae and catapults; trebuchets; and mounted crossbows. He saw guards hauling wagons full of weapons and armor. _They are preparing…they already know._ Hadrian thought, he had planned to warn the Jarl of the threat, but it seemed as if they knew beforehand.

The guards paid him no mind, keeping track of their daily duties. Hadrian saw as the horses were being given armor; and the war hounds were as well. Perhaps Hadrian had come too late to warn the Jarl now.

Hadrian climbed the stone steps, checking to see if the others were following him; and they always were.

When Hadrian made his way to the top of the steps, the door to the city was just before him; but one of the Markarth guard had stopped him, stepping just in front of him, blocking Hadrian's way, but he kept silent, these Nords were a brutish bunch, and the guards could lock you away even if they started the fight.

"You've picked a bad time to come to Markarth traveler, talk of danger abroad." The guard told him.

"We have witnessed this _danger_ firsthand, I assure you; the Jarl would like to speak with us."

"A filthy Grey-Skin like you isn't fit to speak to the Jarl."

The innkeeper backed up a few paces, and Hadrian pretended that the guard did not just say that. "If you can let us inside; we would be very grateful, we only wish to stay for a few days, and then we will be on our way."

"Be quick about it then, and stay out of trouble."

Hadrian sped past the guard, the other two following, he had ignored the guards comment, but had he not had the power to put him away for life, Hadrian would of punched that man so hard his nose would have bent sideway and he would not have been able to breathe.

He pushed open the stone doors, and revealed the beauty of the city of Markarth.

A stone city purely od Dwemer make; the stone seemed to illuminate as the sunlight hot the solid; there were several levels in the stone city, the first occupied by most of the businesses and market stalls; the second had been dominated by the homes of the citizens. But to the left ran a river, and above it the lowest level of Markarth, where the workers and poor served their masters. Inside Markarth also dwelled a great waterfall that made the city a pleasure to look upon.

Hadrian led the innkeeper and Erik past the array of market stall sand citizens, who seemed very grim; this did not surprise Hadrian, most of these people had never seen a siege before; and it was a scary event.

He made his way from the market to the stone steps leading to the Jarl's keep. A few guards stood on duty, but Hadrian ignored them; he did not wish to have to punch a man on this day, he had to speak with the Jarl.

When Hadrian made his way up the steps and towards the doors leading to the keep; he summoned his strength and opened the door, heading inside.

He saw more guards; and the keep looked like it had been thousands of years old, with crumbled walls and dim lights. More guards stood at the passage way; and Hadrian sped past them, not giving them time to speak to him. He had a duty to speak to the Jarl, nobody would stop him.

He did not know if the others were following him; and he did not look, they were safe for now, and inside one of the greatest cities in Skyrim, he no longer had to watch over them.

He climbed more steps, his legs tiring greatly; but as he climbed he soon finally saw the Jarl of Markarth upon the Mournful Throne. Jarl Igmund, the Lord of Markarth, the city of stone saw Hadrian; and his steward shouted to him.

"You are in the presence of Jarl Igmund of Markarth, Lord of the Reach; and the city of Stone, what is your business here, traveler?"

"My Lord," Hadrian began, "I have noticed that your men are preparing for siege."

"A new threat is coming, and we must prepare." Jarl Igmund said. "Why have you come here, friend?"

"My Lord, we have just come from Rorikstead; a village that was attacked by the Draugr."

"Truly? And you survived, how?" the jarl asked.

"Indeed, I was able to escape; it is because of this that I tell you that you are embarking on a hopeless endeavor; Markarth cannot be held; once the gate is broken, the city will be lost; My Lord."

"We have no other choice traveler, the city must be held."

"No my lord," Hadrian began, "There is still time, lead the citizens out of Markarth, make for Solitude, you will not survive in Markarth."

"My Jarl, if I may," The Steward said, "Markarth is the safest place we can be! If we leave you can be sure that the Forsworn will see to it that we don't make it out of the Reach alive"

"Forgive me, traveler; but Markarth is the safest place we can be, the stone city will not fall; but I admire your concern, we would greatly appreciate it you-"

The Jarl; became silent when a guard from Markarth ran up the steps, panting and shouting, "My Lord!"

"Calm yourself, lad; what is it?"

"At the bridge…the stone bridge…they are here…the Draugr are coming."

**Here it is, they are coming! the Draugr are coming for Markarth, the city of stone! **

**Did you like the chapter? hate it? review and tell me!**


	11. Eleriand III

Eleriand

It had taken much persuasion and work to convince Serana to not return to Castle Volkihar.

She had awoken a few hours after Eleriand had escaped; and she was not joyful to see his face again, Eleriand did his best to ignore her while she harassed every part of his being. He endured as she rambled about how Eleriand had shown dis-respect, even going as to say that Eleriand had no respect for women.

But she had been quiet enough when Eleriand had told her what he planned to do. "I am going to find the Dragonborn, whether you would like to accompany me or not is entirely up to you."

That had shut her up; it seemed she would put up with Eleriand if it meant finding the Dragonborn. _I will still be fulfilling my duty, and I will find him as well. _He thought, Eleriand only hoped that Serana would warm up to him in time, or this was to be a very long search indeed.

They were several miles away from the castle, and it was not visible from the mountains any longer, which comforted Eleriand, he had no doubt that they would be searching for him and Serana; so he would have to be careful where they tread, and not stay in one place for too long.

Serana had tried to start conversation, but Eleriand often shot her down, he was in deep thought most of the time, trying to think of where the Dragonborn could have gone, he had not said anything to Eleriand the last day he had saw him that pertained to any importance, only to make sure Serana was safe, and to look after her till he came back.

_But it's been three years, and he's still gone. _Eleriand thought, he didn't know what happened, and neither did Serana; all they had was the note he had sent her around two years ago; it was nothing special, and ponderous to most, it didn't say how he was doing or where he was, in matter of fact, from the note; you could not tell that they had been any more than friends at all.

When Eleriand had finally convinced Serana to hand over the letter, he looked at the words, squinting his eyes, the writing was small, and could strain the eyes quickly. It seemed like it had been written in a hurry, for the penmanship had been sloppy and all over the place. The letter read:

_Dear Serana,_

_ During my absence I have stumbled upon a very ponderous read in my travels that I believe you would enjoy, titled "The Book of the Dragonborn." It is an excellent book and I recommend it to you when it seems as if all hope is lost. Make sure you start on the first page._

_ Love Valor,_

Valor was clearly telling Serana to read the book; but Eleriand did not know why. Nor did he understand why he said "_I recommend it to you when all hope is lost."_ Very ponderous, and the worst part was that Eleriand had no answers.

Eleriand and Serana had set up camp up in the mountains of Solitude; they both slept during the night and traveled during the day, a good decision in Eleriand's mind, the Volkihar vampires would surely be chasing by night and seeping during the day, which meant that they would get a head start in outrunning them.

Finally, when they had set up everything and readied themselves to rest, Eleriand got ready and slept on the ground; he gave Serana the tent, as a compensation for when Eleriand had knocked her unconscious, Serana took the tent gratefully, leaving Eleriand to sleep on the cold hard rock.

Eleriand soon regretted not taking two from the hunters in the wild he had killed in order to feed, but he grew accustomed throughout the night; and after a few hours of lying in pain, he finally fell to sleep.

He arose the next morning early, Serana was still asleep, and he began to gather the things and doused the fire with a flask of water, extinguishing it instantly, Eleriand had hoped to get an early start, so when he had readied everything, he crouched into the tent and woke Serana.

"Get up, girl; we have a long journey ahead." He shouted, continuing to tap her on the shoulder, when she refused to get up, "I'm too tired…" she said softly, "Haven't slept in days…" Eleriand quickly grabbed his flask of water and dumped a small amount right over Serana's face, which woke her up. "Hey!" she shouted, but Eleriand did not care. "Get up, girl; I don't want to be gutted alive by your friends!"

She reluctantly exited the tent a few moments later; Eleriand did not regret throwing the water on her, and he hoped that she had learned her lesson.

They had departed not long after that, Eleriand carrying all the supplies and the rolled up tent on his back while Serana followed. Eleriand still did not know where they were supposed to go.

"Do you even know where were going?" Serana asked as they scaled down the mountain.

"Yes, were going down a mountain."

"I meant do you know where we are headed?"

"No." and that was the end of it, no other words came out of their mouths as they made their way down the snowy mountain, Eleriand could see the roads leading to Dragon Bridge in the distance, and he moved a little faster.

When they came upon the road, hopping from the last little piece of rock onto the stone road, Eleriand began to pant, scaling down a mountain was not easy business, although Serana looked fine, and full of energy.

_She did not have to carry all of the supplies on her back._ Eleriand thought, trying to salvage what little pride he had. Serana did not seem fazed by the mountain at all, if anything she looked more awake and lively then she did before.

When they traveled upon the road to Dragon Bridge, the two kept quiet, he looked back every so often to make sure Serana was still behind him, he had to make sure she did not run off, although he doubted she would, it was still a possibility.

"So…do you have any family in Skyrim?" Serana asked, trying to start a conversation.

"No."

"Do they live in any of the other provinces?"

"I don't have a family…well I did, but it wasn't a healthy, loving family." Eleriand replied annoyingly.

"I understand, kind of; my family had some problems too." Serana replied.

Eleriand wished more than anything for this conversation to be over, he did not like to speak of his family, especially to people he was not comfortable being around in the first place, had he not had a duty to the Dragonborn, Eleriand would have left the girl to do as she please.

In their silence Eleriand saw at last the Town of Dragon Bridge just ahead; it seemed as if most of the citizens were asleep except for the guards; for it was still early in the morning. The guards patrolled with torches in hand, Eleriand would have to stay away from them. He could not risk being discovered, or else that torch may be used to burn him.

They came up to the town, a small settlement made of wooden homes and inhabited by a few people, the only sight worth seeing was the great Dragon Bridge, mighty, a splendor worthy for all to behold. Its craftsmanship was like none Eleriand had seen, as it stretched over the river underneath it.

Eleriand saw as the sun was now fully visible in the sky, and the moon had disappeared, not to be seen until the night came.

"We will stay here for now." Eleriand would be safe from the vampires while the town guard patrolled, and if not, the town guard would still be enough to distract the enemy while he escaped.

"Fine with me." Serana replied, and Eleriand led her into the tavern, still lugging all their supplies on his back; he pushed open the wooden door, revealing he establishment inside.

At least three other citizens stood inside, two if which surrounded the bard, who sang "Ragnar the Red." Simple song, but it was once Eleriand's favorite.

The warmth from the hearth was welcomed by Eleriand, thought the sight of it did. Ever since becoming a vampire he had feared fire; for its effects of his kind were tremendously deadly.

He approached the innkeeper, a Nord woman of average height and hair color, blonde and long, the same for most Nordic women in Skyrim. "I would like two rooms." Eleriand said, putting two gold coins on the counter.

"You can have them; they are yours for the day, just head upstairs, the first two on your right."

"You can go to your room of you want, I'm going to stay here." Eleriand told Serana, and watched as she nodded and went to her own room; Eleriand did not, and stayed with the innkeeper. "Do you have any Black-Briar mead?"

The innkeeper fumbled around the bar, grabbing a bottle, "Here you go." She said, handing it to him. And Eleriand drank the bottle slowly, savoring every sip.

He stayed at the bar for thirty minutes or so, still on the same bottle of mead, when Serana emerged from her room, taking a seat in the stool next to Eleriand.

"Is that Black-Briar mead?" Serana asked.

"Indeed." Eleriand answered, taking another sip from the bottle.

"He tried to get me to taste some…Valor...but I never did…"

"Why not?" Eleriand asked.

"I heard it tastes terrible." Serana said.

"You don't drink it for the taste," Eleriand said plainly, taking another sip. "Innkeeper, bring me another bottle of mead, and one for the girl."

She did as bid, and returned with two full bottles of Black-Briar mead, Eleriand opened his immediately, and took a sip. But Serana just stared at it, hesitating to drink it. "Go on." Eleriand told her. And she opened the lid.

She took a small sip, and made a face, "That...tastes terrible." She said, shoving it aside.

"Fine then, I'll take it." Eleriand replied, and took her bottle.

They sat at the bar for a little while longer, until the two both went to their respectable rooms, and went to sleep once again, the journey wearing them down, Eleriand had absolutely no energy left, and sleep was the only remedy.

Eleriand awoke, in the middle of the night, he decided now would be a good time to depart, he went and woke Serana; who this time got out of bed when he told her to, she obviously had learned her lesson. He gathered his things, and left one more gold coin for the innkeeper, and left the inn, Serana behind him.

As they were leaving Dragon Bridge, Eleriand spoke up. "I think I know what we have to do."

"Do you?" Serana asked.

"It's obvious that Valor wanted you to read the book of the Dragonborn, so we are going to find a copy."

"Were headed to the College, aren't we?" Serana asked.

"They may have the book at the library."

Serana agreed to Eleriand's suggestion, and soon that was their new set destination as they crossed the Dragon Bridge. Eleriand could hear the rushing water of the river below as they crossed. And he looked back at the village, wishing them the best of luck.

They had traveled ten minutes, and Dragon Bridge was no longer in sight when they had stopped to see a dead corpse on the ground in the road. It was a woman, her skin was pale and her lips were covered in blood.

"It's a vampire." Serana said, staring down at the body.

"I wonder what killed her." Eleriand asked,

"Probably a wolf, or a bear; maybe a few bandits, we should be careful." Serana said.

"You're probably right, come on, let's go-

Eleriand was interrupted by the thud of a crossbow bolt that had pierced his right leg; Eleriand immediately fell to the ground, gasping as he felt the pain course through his body. Eleriand willed himself to rise, immediately reaching for his sword belt and unsheathing his blade. Serana readied her dagger. Eleriand searched around for the man with the crossbow, but found nobody.

Until out from behind the distant trees emerged three men, clad in armor with a steel helmet covering their faces. _The Dawnguard._ Eleriand thought, Serana let loose her lightning bolts, but she failed to hit the enemy. Eleriand tried to run, but his leg gave out and he fell to the ground again. Knocking the air out of him.

More crossbow bolts flew past them, and luckily Serana had not been hit yet, and she continued to send a fury of spells upon the Dawnguard, knocking one back with lightning and killing him, but the other two still remained.

The Dawnguard came closer, thinking Eleriand was already dead; but they paid for their mistake, for Eleriand reached out as far as he could and stabbed the soldier closest to him, and he groaned in agony as Eleriand did his best to rise, finally mustering the strength, he used what energy he had to take his blade and strike the enemy down.

Another Bolt thudded came upon Eleriand, this time in the left shoulder, Eleriand had stumbled back, and dropped his blade on the ground, hearing it clang as it hit the stone road.

Eleriand saw as Serana came up from behind and slit the Dawnguard soldier's throat, sending s spray of blood the on the ground, Eleriand fell on his back; and Serana rushed beside him.

"It's deep, I'm going to have to cut it out." She told him.

Eleriand said nothing, only coughed.

"This might hurt." She said, unsheathing her dagger, as she began to cut the flesh around the two arrows.

Eleriand's did not scream, he only fainted.

**Well there it is! I dearly hoped you enjoyed reading it!**

**Hated it? Loved it? please tell me in the reviews so I can help make your reading experience better in the future!**


	12. Dain II

Dain

They killed the dogs first.

They had been starving; there was no food left inside Fort Greymour, and the Draugr still surrounded the fort outside. Their supply of bread and everything else was completely gone, Dain had hoped that help would have arrived by now; but it seemed like Dain's hopes would prove false.

There were around twelve hounds, just barely enough to fill the remaining soldiers bellies for perhaps another day; all except for Dain, who had preferred to give some of his food to the men, and barely ate his fill.

The steel door still held the Draugr at bay; no battering ram could bring down the steel gate of Greymour. When Dain got near the gate, he could hear the Draugr speaking in their guttural language outside, Dain only hoped they did not find another way into the fort.

Hunger had haunted Dain; he could not sleep at night due to the growling of his stomach and the knowledge of the danger that was only a gate away. It seemed as if his men suffered the same affliction. Nobody in the fort slept except for the hounds before they killed them; and the rats…but they would soon have to eat them too; unless Tullius came with more men.

Dain had resided in the second level of the fort, up the spiral stairs was a small room that Dain called his. It was filled with only a small bed and a few books to take Dain's mind of his hunger. The books were decent and served for a time, but when Dain had read them, and then re-read them; they no longer enticed him as they once did.

Also inside the room were two other soldiers, Dain's two right hand men, Merek and Edmund. Each clad in simple Imperial light armor would often stay with Dain to discuss the status of the situation.

On this day they had both been in the room as always when Dain marched in, not surprised to see them there.

Merek had been tall, but he was not very strong, he could swing a sword, but not very hard. He was almost balding, and his skin was the usual color for any imperial, slightly tanned but still light.

Edmund on the other hand had been Merek's opposite; a short man of unbelievable strength, his hair had been shoulder length, and blonde; he was a Nord by heart, and showed it in battle.

Dain would often come to them for advice, and he did so this day as well. Just coming back from killing the last of the hounds; he had ate little, but it was enough to satisfy him; he left the rest for the men.

"Just killed the last of them…" Dain sighed as he sat down.

"How many were left?" Merek asked, grabbing the book of the dresser."

"There were three, not enough to feed all the soldiers, so their cutting it up into very small pieces and cooking them now."

"Good." Edmund said, "Hopefully help will arrive in time."

"The boy probably got killed by a troll, or maybe a Frostbite Spider got to him." Dain said.

"Or he deserted." Murmured Merek,

"Have faith," Edmund began, "Surely Tullius has sent men to rescue us, you must remember that it takes time to march from Solitude to Whiterun."

Dain sighed. "Even if men are coming, we probably would have all died of hunger by then."

Dain knew the truth of it, he would not waste time lying to himself, they would die in this very Fort, but he did not tell the men what he thought, he had to keep their spirits up, and at least live their final days with hope in their heart.

"What about water? Do we have enough?" Merek asked.

"Enough for another day, after that…our stores will be depleted."

"Talos save us…" Merek muttered.

When they first withdrew inside Greymour, they had a large supply of water for them, but as time went on their supply dwindled, until they were almost out. The worst part was that the men did not know…only Dain and the two that stood before him.

"Well…all hope is lost." Merek said.

"Unless Tullius comes soon…you may be right." Dain said.

Even Edmund, who had become the supply of hope for the others, had a grim and defeated look about his face, and Dain could not blame him. Death was almost certain; all they could do now was hope.

"Let us hope that the Gods answer our prayers." Edmund told them.

"I don't think the gods will help us." Dain said.

"What makes you say that?" Merek asked.

Dain sighed, "Ask yourself, what have we done for the Gods to inflict this disaster upon us? Spilled the blood of our own kind, inflicted war upon the land, and made the realm bleed. Thieves walk the streets, and assassins run rampant killing on sight; the gods have grown tired of us, and decided that it is time to cleanse the world of our existence."

"I…you may be right." Edmund said. "But still, we must have hope; or else we have nothing."

Dain kept silent, realizing that all his talk was only dampening the spirits of Merek and Edmund, the last thing he wanted; he started to realize what the lack of food and sleep was doing to his spirits.

"Forgive me, my Lords…I haven't slept in days, and I haven't eaten much." Dain said.

"Who has? I haven't slept since the battle." Edmund said, "But it is our duty to raise the spirits of our men when we ourselves feel like all is lost."

"You are right." Dain said. "I will retire to my bed my lords, if you would excuse me."

And with that Edmund and Merek rose from their chairs, "Sleep well, Legate." Merek said as he was leaving.

Dain fell on his bed; he believed everything he told the two; the gods would never allow something like this to happen unless they had grown tired of the inhabitants of Skyrim…of Tamriel.

He fell into his bed, his eyes getting heavier as h sunk into the straw mattress; perhaps he would sleep tonight.

He finally closed his eyes, and felt himself slowly drift away, until he fell asleep or the first time in days.

In his dreams he had been standing upon a field of grass, a plain that looked like the plains of Whiterun. He ran forward, seeing no Draugr; his heart was suddenly filled with joy, until he saw several figures ahead, he ran towards them; and they seemed farther away then he originally thought, he grew exhausted and took a break, then ran to them once again.

He saw General Tullius, in his normal armor, with a blade drawn, he saw another man, he was young and his hair was jet black and fell down to his shoulders, his skin was light, and a small crown rested upon his head.

And then Dain witnessed as Tullius and the other man disappeared, nowhere to be found, and then out of the blue came another man, an elf; whose skin was as pale as the snow.

His hair was long and white, not blonde, but white. He was of average height, and fairly muscular, but not really muscular, like most Nords. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, he was clad in an ancient armor Dain had never seen, and on the armor was an engraved dragon, and he looked at Dain and smiled.

"There will always be hope." He said. and he did not disappear, until Dain woke the next morning.

**There you have it! sorry that it wasn't filled with action and was short, but trust me, there will be war and death in the future, I can give you that!**

**Just to let you know, Dain isn't always such a stickler in real life, he is hungry and tired; he isn't always as hopeless and doom driven.**

**And what about that dream? what do you think it means? tell me in the reviews!**

**Love it? Hate it? tell me so I can make your reading experience better in the future! **


	13. The Vengeful Prince

The Vengeful Prince

"A letter, My Lord; from General Tullius, I was to give it to the Emperor, but until he returns from the hunt, this belongs to you."

"Thank you, sir. Here, take this." Vaeril handed the man a gold coin. "Go and get yourself a drink, you earned it." Prince Vaeril smiled, and put the coin in the man's hand, and watched as the courier left the room, a smile on his face.

They had been inside the Imperial city Prison Bastion had been decent enough place for the Elder Council to hold their meetings, and served as a quality home for the Emperor and his sons.

_Son._ Prince Vaeril thought. His brother and his sister had both been taken away from him, each killed viscously without honor, what angered Vaeril was not their deaths, everyone must die; it was the manner of their deaths that angered him.

He had lost his brother, Terrowin to the war; Vaeril's brother had insisted on joining the Legion, their father had forbad it at first, until Terrowin ran off in the middle of the night; father let it slide, he still had another heir, and surely the Great War would only last a few years. But he was wrong, and Terrowin had been killed in the war.

But it was the death of Vaeril's sister that had truly haunted Vaeril, her name had been Elizabeth, and she had been a real beauty. She had been a great person with an amazing soul. It had been for that reason that Vaeril had felt sick when he had heard that She was going to Skyrim to study at the College of Winterhold, and Vaeril had almost fainted when he had heard that she had been killed in a Nordic Crypt named Saarthal.

_Father cried that day; and so did I. _Vaeril thought.

Vaeril had been tall for his race, the Imperials; his hair had been jet black and fell to his shoulders, his skin was lighter than most Imperials, more of a Nordic color than anything else. The women in Cyrodil had proclaimed Vaeril as the most handsome man in Tamriel; although some did not consider Vaeril a man, his father still called him boy, and so did the Elder Council; even though Vaeril was nineteen, surely a man in his own right.

He had been clad in an array of white and black clothes, with chain mail underneath, in case someone made an attempt on his life.

Vaeril opened the letter that the courier that given him. His father Titus Mede II had gone out with his huntsman to scour the forests of Cyrodil for stag, elks, and anything else he could find. Due to the fact that the letter had been directed to the Emperor himself, it could not be given to the Elder Council; so it was given to Vaeril, his only remaining heir.

Prince Vaeril opened the letter, breaking the seal; and following as he read the neat penmanship of General Tullius.

_Dear Titus Mede, second of your name_,

_Skyrim is under attack by a new threat, I am requesting that you send reinforcements immediately, or else I fear that Skyrim will fall._

_ The threat will be hard for you to believe, but Skyrim is under attack by a massive host of Draugr, or the undead; I should say._

_ Please send a host large enough to quell this threat immediately._

_ Sincerely, General Tullius._

_Draugr…_The Prince thought, now those beasts would roam unchallenged, who knows how many people they would kill? Vaeril suddenly remembered the letter they had received of Elizabeth's death. He remembered crumbling the letter with his hand, then burning it in the hearth, trying to tell himself that the letter was a lie, but as the days went he slowly accepted it more and more until it no longer affected him.

_Tullius did well by getting this letter into my hands, _Prince Vaeril thought, _Even though it was unintentional._ Vaeril stuffed the letter into his pocket, He would not make the mistake of showing this to the Elder council; he would bring this to his father as soon as he returned.

Prince Vaeril rushed down the stairs, each step leading to another; he had to get this letter to his father as soon as possible, or else Skyrim would suffer, and the realm would bleed.

He eventually came to a stop when the stairs ended at the floor of the Elder Council, a hall of as much majesty and beauty as the Imperial Prison Bastion could offer, but it served well enough. The floor was made of pure white marble, and Vaeril almost slipped once as he speedily walked across it.

He met one of the members of the Elder Council; Amaund Motierre, a man of ill intentions and mysterious motives. Vaeril did not trust the man, but he needed to find his father.

"My Lord Motierre, a moment?" Vaeril called out to him.

"Of course, my prince; I live only to serve your will." He said, in a sly voice.

"I was wondering if my father had given you any notion of when he planned to return."

"Oh yes, he addressed the council yesterday, he should return tonight, my lord." He said.

"Thank you, My Lord; enjoy the rest of your day." Vaeril said, walking past the elder councilman; Vaeril never liked Amaund Motierre, the man used to scare him when he was younger, now he saw Motierre as a potential enemy, a man who would risk anything to better his position.

With the news he had received, Vaeril would have to wait until tonight for his father to return from the hunt, Titus Mede's body was old, and surely he could not bear to walk around the forest in the heat for too long before growing weary, he would return soon, Vaeril was sure of it.

He waited till sundown, when he was sure his father had returned, and made his way back downstairs to the floor of the Elder Council. He saw as several hunters clad in fur armors made of animal pelts left the Bastion, and then he saw his father, who had changed from hunting clothes into his emperor robes.

Vaeril approached his father, an older man of average height, his hair had turned white from his long years. His robes had been a dark blue, with an array of other colors, matched with gold.

"Father, we must speak…alone." Vaeril said.

"Is something wrong, Vaeril?" Titus Mede asked.

"Yes." Vaeril said, "Come with me."

He led his father the Emperor up the steps he had just gone down not a few moments ago, he went slowly; knowing that the steps would way their toll on his aging father soon enough.

After many steps, they had finally returned to the Emperors room, Vaeril shut the door when his father made his way in. Mede turned to his son.

"Why have you brought me up here?" He asked, "Is something going on?"

"Something is happening," Vaeril said. "Something we need to stop." Vaeril said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the slightly crumbled letter, handing it to his father to read, when Titus Mede finished inspecting the letter, his eyes were wide open.

Draugr…" he whispered, "But how…how is this possible?"

"A good question; and one I cannot answer at this very moment." Vaeril began, "But we can find out."

"How?"

"Send men to Tullius, a lot of men; he would not ask for our assistance unless he was sure that he could not deal with the problem myself; send aid at once." Vaeril answered.

"I must show this to the Elder Council first." The Emperor said.

"No!" Prince Vaeril said, "The Elder Council will not understand, this is personal."

"Personal, what do you…no, you don't mean it?" Vaeril's father said.

"Indeed I do; send the men, and I will lead them, you are not as young as you once were, father; I will bring victory for the empire in your place."

"No," Titus said, "Absolutely not; you are the only child I have left, Vaeril. My only heir, I cannot allow you to ride into battle with such dangerous foes abroad."

Vaeril grew angry, "They killed Elizabeth! My sister and your daughter; those foul beings butchered her; she did not even receive a proper burial! Do you have no regard for her memory, she would want this!"

"Your sister is dead!" The Emperor roared, then calmly sat down in a nearby wooden chair, sighing.

"She is dead, and my eldest son is dead; your mother is dead, killed by the Dominion, all I have left is you; Vaeril. You are the only one I have left…You will carry the Mede name when I am old and frail and cease to be one day; and you will rule in my stead, your place is here; not out in Skyrim so you can die like your siblings."

"Father," Prince Vaeril said, "I am no longer a boy; I am a man, and I must do what I feel is right. Elizabeth and Terrowin would do the same thing."

The Emperor did not speak, he just grabbed a piece of parchment from the dresser nearby and a piece of charcoal, and scribbled some sentences on the paper, Prince Vaeril could not read what the words said, but he handed the paper to Vaeril, who took it into his hand and did no open it.

"The men will meet in the northern military camp…" Titus Mede began, "If you are to be Emperor one day, you need your men to follow you till no end; show your men the kind of leader you can be, give that letter to Legate Damian."

"Thank you father," Prince Vaeril began, withdrawing from the room, leaving his father by himself, and going back down the stairs.

He would have to give the letter to Legate Damian, who was somewhere in the Imperial city, Vaeril would have to find him.

_Tullius is lucky I was the one to receive this letter._ Prince Vaeril would not stop until the Draugr threat was dealt with; he would kill as many as he needed to, he would ravage their crypts and burn them down If need be. He would do whatever it took to bring vengeance for Elizabeth's memory.

Vaeril found himself in his room, his two servants inside as well; two men who tended to Vaeril's every will. They immediately rose when he entered; "My armor, if you could." Vaeril spoke.

The two carried his cuirass, a White light armor inlaid with gold; the servants helped him don his armor, bringing his boots and gauntlets.

_I hope Tullius doesn't do anything rash until we get there._ Vaeril said, and when his armor was equipped, he readied himself; to ride to the camp, and to war.

**Well The Prince rides to war for the empire! will he help end the threat of the Draugr?**

**you can probably tell that I am trying to set up everything so that at one point in the story the crap will hit the fan and a lot of crazy stuffs gonna happen!**

**Did you like it? hate it? review and tell me your thoughts!**

**And remember...**

**#HailStannis!**

**#AvengeRobb!**

**#TheNorthRemembers!**

**#TheNightisDrakandfullofTerrors!**


	14. Hadrian III

Hadrian

The stone of Markarth resisted the flames.

The fire had not engulfed the stone city, but the grass and tress far out in the reach were in flames, smoke was rising from the distance, and Hadrian stood behind the barricades with the other able bodied men who had been forced to defend the city, though the Jarl had been noticeably absent.

Hadrian and the rest of the men stood not a few yards away from the stables, the barricades had been set up, and the men were positioned on the closest thing to a wall Markarth had. Legate Emmanuel Admand stood in command, atop his white stallion, with steel armor covering the horses face and body.

They waited, looking onto the distance with fear in their hearts, they all knew of what happened in Whiterun, and Hadrian had witnessed the burning of Rorikstead firsthand, he knew that these Draugr were difficult to overcome, this would be no easy victory.

From the distance he could hear voices, the voices of men; screams and cries, he heard something that sounded like an explosion, and more screams, he couldn't see a thing past the farms, but he could hear everything.

It took a few more minutes and more painful waiting for the screams to cease, Hadrian stood there; it was just like the days of the Great War; Hadrian had been there, at the battle for Anvil, the waiting had killed him then, and it did now.

He could sense the discord among the other soldiers as well; he occasionally looked back at the Legate, who sat upon his horse, not moving an inch, if he had any fear in his heart, then Hadrian could not see it. He turned back around, wondering if the innkeeper and his son had been summoned to battle as well.

_I hope they make it out alive._ Hadrian thought, but hope had left him, Markarth had no wall; nor was there an escape route in case the city was taken, if the garrison outside the city fell; and the gate was broken, the last defense and hope for the survival of Markarth would be lost.

And then Hadrian saw them, as the Draugr marched forward in an orderly fashion, Hadrian could not understand how the Draugr could have become so organized, it was as if they were an army of Legionnaires. _They certainly behave like them, except there dead. Hadrian thought._

"_Stop!"_ Hadrian heard a rough voice in the distance, a deep rasp came from the Draugr's voice as they halted, obeying their leader.

Hadrian could see their blue eyes shining in the dark, a lot better than he saw their body. He could not see how large the army was; but he assumed it was large enough to win this battle.

Legate Emmanuel called out from behind them atop his horse. "Notch!"

Hadrian grabbed a steel arrow from his quiver, he had around twenty equipped, he had hoped he would not run out, but that hope would most likely soon prove false.

"Draw!" The Legate shouted, and Hadrian obeyed his orders, pulling back the string from the Imperial bow, slowly, picking a target.

"Hold." The Legate said.

"_Duaan!" _the same voice called out from the distance, in a language Hadrian had never heard and did not understand. And the Draugr charged forward, weapons in hand up the hill, chanting, "_Pahlok Joorre, Hin Kah Fen Kos Bonaar!" _

"Loose!" Legate Emmanuel shouted, Hadrian picked a target, and Hadrian loosened his grasp, releasing the string; sending the arrow flying downward upon the enemy, who was advancing forward.

The storm of arrows came upon the Draugr down below, and the first few rows fell down almost instantly, but more came to take their place; and Hadrian saw as the Draugr answered back with a flurry of their own arrows, bringing down several Legionnaires and male citizens alike.

"Notch. Draw. Loose!" The Legate called out, and Hadrian obeyed without question, nocking his arrow simultaneously with the others, pulling the string back as quickly as his arms would allow him, almost immediately sending another arrow into the storm when he found a target.

The Draugr advanced, and soon drew closer and closer, the soldiers sent more and more arrows upon them; but the Draugr did not lessen in numbers, for every Draugr killed, five more came; Hadrian killed as many with his arrows as he could; but it did not seem to affect the battle at all.

The Draugr finally advanced up the hill, and were very close; too close for comfort, Hadrian turned to Legate Emmanuel, who still atop his horse shouted out, "Swords!"

He repeated it a few times for everyone to hear. Hadrian reached for his sword belt and unsheathed his long steel sword; the other soldiers did the same, the sound of steel leaving its scabbard rang through the air.

They met the Draugr not twenty feet paste the stables, steel clashed against the work of the ancient Nordic smiths. Blood was spilled, and screams rang through the air; the soldiers had held their own, even Hadrian; who had become rusty when it came to battles brought down many Draugr.

He ducked when a greatsword came for his head, a lowly Draugr stared at him intently, its greatsword sharp enough to lop off Hadrian's head if he was not careful. Hadrian took a few paces back, in order to get out of the swords reach.

The Draugr swung downward, as if to cut Hadrian in half; he leapt back, barely escaping the swords reach. Hadrian readied himself and attempted to stab his enemy, but as he got closer to deal the blow, the Draugr swung his blade at Hadrian, who barely escaped without a scratch.

Hadrian then answered with a strike across the lower right leg of the Draugr, a basic move that sent the Draugr to its knees, the cut in its leg stopping it from rising, Hadrian then hacked at the Draugr's neck, and it took three swings to separate the head from the body.

Hadrian saw as Legate Emmanuel Admand rode atop his armored horse, a battle-axe in his hand, riding through the battle, cutting down at as many Draugr he could find, swaying his axe to and fro, killing many Draugr.

But then Hadrian saw as a series of arrows came from the distance, and Hadrian witnessed as Legate Emmanuel's horse was hit in the head by several arrows, falling down in pain; and ass it fell, Legate Emmanuel was hit by two arrows, once in the leg, and another in the lower abdomen.

The Legate fell with his dead horse, lucky that the horse did not fall on top of him. Another flurry of arrows came from the distance, a few whirled past Hadrian, but others were not so lucky, being pierced by the arrow, sending them to the ground, some never got up again.

Hadrian rushed towards the fallen Legate, cutting his way through many Draugr; Hadrian rushed past the others as he heard another soldier yell, "Protect the Legate!"

Hadrian knelt next to the fallen Draugr, seeing as the Legate coughed up blood, Hadrian attempted to pull one of the arrows out, but the Legate writhed in pain, and stopped him shortly after. "No," he said.

"I can get the arrows out…" Hadrian began.

"Enough," he said, "Traveler…you have fought against these things…before." He coughed up some more blood. "You were a Legionnaire?"

"Indeed." Hadrian answered.

"Then I give you my last command, bring the men back inside the city…go…now…" he said in pain.

Hadrian would obey the Legate's last orders, "Fall back! Inside the city! Fall back!"

The soldiers obeyed, even though they had no knowledge of Hadrian being put into command. Hadrian and the soldiers cut their way out, and as soon as they were free, they ran to the gate, the Draugr following not far behind.

More arrows came from the darkness, and more Legionnaires fell, hit from the back while trying to flee, Hadrian ran inside the city of Markarth, the remaining Legionnaires following.

"Half of the men stay at the gates, everyone else; get the women and children out of their homes and into Understone Keep, now!"

"Who put you in command?" one soldier asked.

"The Legate, before he died; now, move it!"

The men that did not go to get the women and children stayed at the gate, and did their best to keep it closed as a constant ram came upon the dwemer made door. Hadrian's only hope was that Dwemer doors would hold longer than others.

"Traveler!" Hadrian heard.

Hadrian turned to see a woman, she was a Redguard, and her dark hair was not long, but not short either; she was clad in steel armor, with an iron sword at her sword belt.

"Traveler, where is Legate Emmanuel, the Jarl has requested his presence."

"The Legate is dead; I have been given command due to my experience with Draugr."

"Is that so?" The Houscarl said, "Well then, come with me; the Jarl has requested yours and the town guard to Understone keep."

Hadrian followed the houscarl towards the keep, the Houscarl ran, but Hadrian did not; the battle had exhausted him, he was not the young elf he once was, he walked to the keep, taking slow steps.

But he was haunted when he heard a viscous crack, and then heard the screams of many men, he turned to see the gate finally broken by the battering ram; the remaining soldiers stationed at the gate tried to fight them off, but where killed shortly after.

"Traveler, come!" the houscarl shouted, and then Hadrian ran, the houscarl opened the stone door; allowing Hadrian and a few surviving soldiers enter the keep.

Inside Hadrian ran with what he counted as five Imperial soldiers just behind him; but Hadrian also saw the vast amount of town guards that were inside Understone keep, he stopped counting at thirty, rushing to see the Jarl.  
He was clad in Steel Plate armor, a war hammer in his hands, beside him was his wizard, Calcelmo just beside him.

"Where is Legate Emmanuel?" he asked.

"The Legate is dead, My Lord." The houscarl said. "He put this traveler in command."

"So he did, didn't he?" the Jarl began, "I suppose you know that it is all over, traveler; we will all probably die in here; but not without a fight."

"Of course, My Lord-

Hadrian paused as he heard a familiar banging, and saw the door to Understone Keep moved by a great force; Hadrian had lost all hope.

"Tonight, we go to Sovngarde…" The Jarl said, as Hadrian heard the same cracking sound he had heard outside, and saw as more Draugr rushed in.

The last of the town guards had joined in battle against the Draugr forces; Hadrian was surprised that the town guards were holding them at bay.

But it seemed as if the tide turned when Hadrian saw a figure come into view; it was as if it was levitating, a staff was in its hand, and it looked undead, just like the Draugr, but this one was different, its clothes gave it a look of authority, and instead of a face there was a mask, it was as if it glowed Red. From its staff came a blast of fire and several of the town guards were incinerated.

"Stop them!" he shouted, "Stop the Draugr!"

But the Draugr came forward, and the last of the Jarl's forces met in battle Hadrian among them, the last moment for the battle of Markarth had begun.

Hadrian had taken down two Draugr already when he immediately felt a terrible pain in his side, falling to his side, his head hitting the stone.

Over him stood a Draugr, a terrible mace in its hands, with spikes longer than some daggers, Hadrian went to feel his side; and felt as a flood of blood was spilling out, he suddenly felt nocuous.

The last thing he saw was a flash and a bolt of lightning, and watching as the Jarl flew back, not rising. And then he saw as the Draugr raised its arms.

The mace fell upon Hadrian's face.

**Well Markarth has fallen! will Skyrim ever recover?**

**Just to clarify, that Dragon Priest was not Konahrik; I will let you try to figure out which one it was :)**

**I don't know if anyone liked Hadrian, but I was kind of sad about his death, but it had to be done!**

**Like it? Hate it? Review it! reviews help boost my motivation and bring out chapters faster! and they also help improve my writing, which in turn helps your reading expeience in the future!**


	15. Mychael II

Mychael

Aela had buried Njada, and the Companions reactions had shocked Mychael.

When Mychael had returned, he broke the news to the remaining Companions, who surprisingly did not care in the slightest, in fact; Athis the Dark elf, actually seemed glad when he heard of her demise. Telling Mychael, "She was always trying to pick a fight, and she was rude, disrespectful, and above all, a weak warrior, not fit to bear the name of the Companions."

Vilkas and Farkas had heard the news at the same time, Farkas seemed sad at the loss of a Shield-sister, but Vilkas did not seem to care, in fact, like Athis; Vilkas seemed almost glad with the death of Njada Stonearm.

Aela had been the only one of the Companions who was sad at the loss of Njada, she buried her herself, the Companions all attended as they honored her memory, as was customary; but Mychael could tell they did not wish to be there.

"For our fallen sister, we weep." Aela said.

"We weep." The others had said.

The "Ceremony" went on for another ten minutes or so, but after it was done they all retired back to their duties, and all but Aela went on as normal.

The days and nights passed and the group traveled on, their ultimate destination being Solitude. There they would hopefully receive shelter and steady feed from Elesif, and be far away from the enemy at Whiterun.

_The High-Queen of Skyrim, yet she can't ride to battle, _Mychael thought, _She lets Tullius do all the dirty work while she sits on her chair and grieves about her husband._

Mychael had always been doubtful of Elesif's ability to rule Skyrim, he had always thought that Skyrim should be ruled by a skilled warrior, one who could represent Skyrim well, and also defend the land in times of peril, Elesif could rule a ball or party, but she was not fit to rule Skyrim.

It was for reasons such as this that he thought Ulfric would have been a better representation of Skyrim; Mychael would have joined the Stormcloaks long ago, but he did not agree with their barbaric hate of non-Nord races, it was that alone that stopped him from flocking to Ulfric's banner.

The group of survivors started upon the road once more; hoping not to run into any trouble, bandits would often interfere with travelers, and the group wanted no trouble from that angle.

The sun had been hidden behind the trees, and the cold had kept them from sweating, so the journey was not as tiresome, in fact it seemed as if the more they traveled the more energy Mychael felt inside him. The snow was not as thick as it once was, allowing much easier travel; they would be at Solitude in no time.

They would stop for food or to rest occasionally, staying over the night, three men would keep watch and everyone would take turns for about an hour. Nobody complained, they would have to keep watch and have a couple hours less sleep then be raided by bandits or attacked by wolves like Njada over the night.

Mychael had volunteered to keep watch first, along with Aela and Torvar, their watch was to be only one hour, while the other slept, not that Mychael wanted to; he could not imagine sleeping is these woods, there had been odd howling coming from the woods recently, and Mychael would not wait for another wolf to attack him in his sleep.

"Would you stop drinking?" Aela asked.

"Nope, not until I can see two of you, and I won't be able to feel it when I get hit." Torvar responded.

"You will never become a member of the Circle if you keep on drinking like that, you'll never get a job done."

"Good; not like I want to be in the Circle anyways, all you guys do is a whole lot of nothing, not that I have to worry about jobs either, since Jorvaskr was probably burned to the ground."

"Hey," Mychael said, "I think they are trying to sleep, you should be quieter." Mychael told them.

"If he keeps on drinking, then he will be the first one to die if we get attacked."

"Fine by me, I hear there is lots of mead in Sovngarde." Torvar said.

"You're hopeless." Aela said.

"Never had hope, don't need it; all I need is this." Torvar smiled, holding his tankard, Mychael did not know where Torvar got the mead from, but he was sure drinking a lot of it.

The night was plagued with howls, Mychael never wanted to see another wolf again after witnessing what it had done to Njada. Mauling her face, while the other ripped the flesh from her stomach, he would never understand how a member of the Companion could be bested by a meager animal.

"Must be a pack," Aela said, "They seem to hunt at night more often these days."

"What are you talking about? Wolves hunt in the day as well." Torvar said.

"That's no ordinary wolf." Aela smirked,

"What do you mean?" Mychael asked.

"Come with me." Aela said, rising, tapping on Athis' shoulder, "You keep watch now." She told him, and then Mychael and Torvar followed Aela.

Mychael could barely see due to the darkness, so he kept close to Aela; Torvar was following close behind, he fell in the snow a few times as well, the mead entering his system at last. "I'm fine." He said, struggling to get up.

The howls of the wolves grew louder, they sounded near, but Aela shook their head, "They are still at least ten minutes away, these wolves howls are louder than others."

"What makes these wolves different?" Mychael asked.

"You will see."

Torvar was irrelevant to the conversation; he lurked behind, cursing when he dropped his tankard of mead. Aela whipped her head around and scolded him. "Shut up Ice-brain! Do you want them to hear us in Valenwood?"

Torvar kept quiet soon after that, muttering to himself, trying to scrounge the puddles of mead on the snow and put it back in the tankard, but his attempts failed, and he abandoned the beverage soon after; to his disdain.

It seemed as if the howls could grow no louder, Mychael could hear voices past the wood, or a voice; a man in agony, screaming, begging for mercy. Aela held her hand out, "Stop." She whispered, telling them to keep still.

Past the bush that they hid by were a band of men, each in ripped and torn beggar's clothes, leading them was a man with no shirt, his skin was light; and he stood over the man that had been screaming.

His body seemed to have been ripped open, other deep bite marks were all over his arms and legs, Mychael was surprised the man was still alive; he should have bled to death, but he still endured.

"Keep the rest for another day." Their leader said, "We must have provisions if we are to reach the north in two days."

"But my lord, Shouldn't we stay for the night?"

"No!" he said, "The Draugr will surely head this way, we must get as far away from them as we can."

"But-"

"Lord Hircine has commanded me to go to the north, and that is where we will go! Now come, we must get ready!"

_Who are these people? _Mychael thought. The man had mentioned Hircine, and if Mychael was not mistaken; had been the Daedric Prince of the Hunt. But where had the howling come from, Aela had talked of wolves.

But Mychael almost screamed when he saw that Torvar had stumbled and fell to the ground, the mead doing its works on him. Mychael immediately noticed the danger as he looked onward; the men had heard the noise.

"What was that?"

"Someone is here!" the leader said, "Show yourself!"

Bravely, to Mychael's surprise, Aela had stepped from the bushes, standing tall, without fear. The leader had an astonished look on his face.

"I can smell the beast inside of you girl." The leader said. "You reek of indiscipline and bloodlust."

Aela was silent.

Mychael emerged from the bushes as well, confronting his fears, Torvar was drunk enough to follow, not realizing what he had done. The man sniffed the air.

"I do not smell the beast blood on you two; good! The catch we had recently made was not enough to feed us on our long journey; you will serve splendidly!"

And then, to Mychael's horror, the man knelt to his knees, and his hair grew longer; and some power came from him, and it was as if he was no longer a man, his legs became more powerful; and his body was covered in hair, then Mychael saw as his transformation was complete, and he let loose a terrible howl into the night.

There were two others, and they too became one with the beast blood, mimicking their lord, transforming into the ultimate hunter, to them; everything was prey.

But to his amazement and shock, Aela did the same thing; shedding her skin to become anew, fear grew inside Mychael, he then knew what most did not, Aela the Huntress of the Companions was a Werewolf, and when she joined with her inner wolf she too let out a terrible howl into the night, and the birds that rested in the trees flew away in fear.

Suddenly, the beasts charged at the group; and there was one for each man, Mychael quickly unsheathed his blade, running back, these Werewolves possessed great strength, they could knock Mychael ten feet back with a single swing of their arm.

Mychael swung at the beast as it drew closer, but his swing was not strong enough, and it did not penetrate the wolf's hide. The Werewolf swung with all its might, but Mychael ducked just in time, and the wolf hit the branch of a tree instead; and it cried in pain.

Mychael leaped to the side, and sliced his sword upward, cutting some of the wolf's skin, he then quickly jumped backwards, as the wolf howled in pain once again; but Mychael was not finished, he sprinted forwards and stuck his blade right in in the wolf's side, sending it onto its hairy knees, Mychael expected it to rise, or fall to the ground, but it stayed on its knees, and it died.

Then Mychael turned to see the others, Aela did battle with the leader of the group, each trading blows; Aela seemed more powerful, but the other made up for his lack with speed, leaping from side to side, Aela could barely land one hit.

But then Aela did something else, she leaped on top of the other Werewolf, and bore her teeth into its neck, ripping out flesh as she howled into the night; taking her enemy and throwing it to the ground, stomping on the wolf's chest.

All had been well, and the battle seemed won, but Mychael heard another howl, and turned to see Torvar, still drunk from the mead; and as Aela guessed, the mead did in fact become the death of him.

Torvar fought valiantly, but the Werewolf jumped on him the way Aela jumped on her enemy. Torvar struggled, trying to free himself, but the enemy was too strong, and Torvar could only wait for his doom. The Werewolf then clawed at Torvar's face, and a shocking sound came from Torvar in his last moments.

Aela let loose an arrow that pierced the Werewolf in the head, but it could not save Torvar, and Mychael stood in shock as another one of the Companions was killed in front of Mychael's own eyes, Mychael could not believe this had happened.

Mychael swore the last word Torvar had shouted was "Mead!" he saw as Aela ran up to his dead body, "Another one." She whispered. "By the nine."

Mychael could only hope that there was indeed Mead in Sovngarde, so that Torvar would at least enjoy his life there.

"Go and bring the news to the rest, I have to bury another one."

**There you have it! First Njada, now Torvar? Let's say the ultimate cleansing of canon characters has just begun! …nah I'm just kidding, I won't kill all the canon characters, but people will die in this story, so be prepared for ultimate events to unfold!**

** Now review this chapter, because when you do it makes me feel good on the inside!**

** Don't forget to read the next chapter; OR I'LL PLUCK OUT YOUR EYES! **

** (I hope you all know who said that!)**


	16. Tullius III

Tullius

"The host of Draugr has made their way into the Reach, and another smaller host is headed to the Pale."

The men had come; all had received the letters to mass in the marshes of Morthal. Tullius had expected as much; surely the men of Skyrim would answer he summons and protect their home. His host had been a vast number of twenty-thousand. A number that would of surely wiped out Ulfric's Stormcloaks in one swing. _But this isn't Ulfric, this is a greater, larger threat; one that could mean the death of us all._

They had come from all the remaining holds of Skyrim. From The Rift, to Eastmarch, even Winterhold sent their small amount of soldiers to help in the fight for Skyrim. All except for Markarth, who needed the men to defend their own borders.

Tullius had hoped to amass the men and head to The Reach. But it had taken too long for the host to gather. Markarth would have to defend themselves for now.

Tullius had been with his most trusted and loyal counselors; among them were Legate Rikke, Legate Skulnar, Legate Fasendil, and Legate Hrollod. Most of them had come from the military camps spread across Skyrim, and had arrived with their men. All but Rikke and Skulnar, who had been with Tullius in Solitude from the very beginning.

They had been in the camp; inside the largest tent that could be found in the twenty-thousand large campsite. Inside was simply a table, with a map of Skyrim stretched out across it. The Legates had been studying the map with Tullius since they arrived, trying to figure out the best path of attack, and which may to march their men.

Legate Fasendil spoke up. "We can split the host in half; sending ten thousand to guard the North, and the rest to take refuge in the Plains of Whiterun."

"What of Markarth?" General Tullius asked.

"The Draugr have extended their arm to the Reach; we will not be able to get to Markarth in time, we have to focus on The Pale, and rescuing the men at Fort Greymour."

"You may be right." Tullius said. "How many Draugr are left in Whiterun?"

It was Legate Rikke who spoke up this time. "Our scouts report that there should be at least around thirty-thousand left in Whiterun, ten-thousand headed to the Reach, and ten-thousand heading to the Pale."

"And we only have Twenty-thousand men…" Tullius said to himself, but the other Legates heard him. If there were three different massive hosts scouring Skyrim, then it would be almost impossible for Tullius to win this war without abandoning half of Skyrim to the enemy.

"If I may, General," Legate Skulnar said. "Perhaps we could send perhaps maybe five-thousand men to Dawnstar and send the rest through Labyrinthian and then to Whiterun, Markarth should hold for a time perhaps; and Five-thousand men should be sufficient to hold the Pale for a time; long enough to hold until we take Whiterun."

"But General, what of Markarth?" Legate Rikke said.

"Markarth will not hold; there is no escape out of those mountains, and the Draugr outnumber the forces at The Reach ten to one!" Legate Hrollod said.

"A good battering ram will bring down their gate in minutes." Legate Fasendil said.

Tullius knew the men were right, Markarth could not be held, there was no escape route out of those mountains, and they would be trapped inside. If the gate was brought down then Markarth would surely fall.

"Markarth cannot be saved," The General said. "We must direct our attention to preserving the Pale and taking Whiterun."

"General," Legate Rikke began, "The host at Whiterun is too large for us to take."

"Perhaps," Tullius said. "An attack on the city would surely mean our doom, Whiterun's walls may be old, but they are strong."

"Then what do you advice, General?" Legate Hrollod asked.

"An attack on the city directly would end with our dooms." General Tullius said. "We cannot march on the walls of Whiterun; we have to strike when they are out in the open."

"General," Legate Rikke began, "I doubt the Draugr will leave Whiterun, it's a defendable city with lots to offer."

"I doubt they will stay for too long, they are Draugr; undead. I'm surprised they had enough brains to even gather an army." General Tullius said.

"It matters not," Legate Rikke said, "I do not believe they will leave Whiterun."

"General," Legate Fasendil began. "It may be possible; if we ride our host just far enough away from Whiterun, and out of their arrows reach, it might be possible to draw out their force from the city."

"There we have it then." General Tullius said. "Legate Hrollod, you will take the five-thousand men to the Pale; as for the rest of us, we ride to Labyrinthian."

And that was the end of planning; Legate Hrollod, Legate Skulnar, and Legate Fasendil all quickly left the tent, readying themselves to ride to their destination. But Rikke stayed behind, as she always did; as Tullius' most trusted counselor.

"General, I don't think we should march on Whiterun."

"We just discussed this; we will make use of Legate Fasendil's plan."

"A good plan; but it will not work." Rikke said.

"And why is that?" Tullius asked.

"Thirty-thousand versus twenty-thousand are very bad odds, General; we will be outnumbered."

"I've won battles while outnumbered before." Tullius replied.

"Against Ulfric? Although I commend you for defeating the Stormcloaks; they were fighting against fate. They had no siege weapons, their armor was of leather, their blades and other equipment were poorly forged. All they had to their advantage was Nordic stubbornness. This threat is many times more dangerous than the uprising ever was; it needs to be taken cautiously."

Legate Rikke had been right, and Tullius knew it. Ulfric had no hope of winning the civil war, their cause had been in vain. The only thing they possessed to their advantage was their bravery and quest for honor. _Plus we had the Dragonborn._

"You may be right Rikke, but we have no other choice. It's this, or let the Draugr slaughter innocents uncontested, and i will do whatever I can to stop that from happening."

Rikke didn't say anything, and Tullius knew why. It did not take long for the Legate to understand Tullius' reasoning behind his decision. There was nothing more that Tullius could do.

"So we will abandon Markarth?" Rikke asked.

"Markarth is too far away and will take too long to reach; plus there are only two routes we can take, and one is occupied by Draugr. If sent our men to Markarth all we would find is a pillaged city with nothing left but an army of dead men." Tullius said.

Rikke had to understand, for she was silent once again. Markarth would have to fend for itself, there was no hope of reaching them in time, not only that, but they would be cornered by Draugr if the host in Whiterun decided to give the army in the Reach aid. They had no other choice then to abandon all hope that Markarth could survive.

"I hope you know what you're doing, General." Legate Rikke said to herself, but Tullius could hear her.

"I think all of Skyrim does…" Tullius muttered.

Skyrim's only hope was that Tullius could win this war. He was the only known hope for Skyrim, and if he fell then Skyrim would fall with him. Tullius had to succeed, or the lives of thousands were at stake.

"You know, all the great wars have names; so they can sing about it in the songs." Tullius said.

"Perhaps we will name it one day; when it's all over."

**There it is! What should the war be named? If you have any suggestions then PM me!**

** Make sure to leave a review because it makes me feel very good about myself!**

**And just to clarify, new has not reached Tullius yet of Markarth's fall.**

** ASOIAF quote of the day:**

**"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives." –Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, Hand of the Kind, Warg of Illyn Pain, and Loser of his Head. **


	17. Eleriand IV

Eleriand

Eleriand awoke in an unrecognizable room. He is head had pained him, and pain shot up his leg when he tried to move it. He raised his arm but that hurt him too.

A chandelier hung above him; and Eleriand feared that it would fall on top of him. The candles had provided enough light for Eleriand to see the several laid out chairs and tables that had been set in the room. He could see his sword and bow atop the dresser, along with his armor.

Eleriand did not know where he was, but he was certain he was not in Dragon Bridge; for Eleriand felt warmer than he did in Haafingar. He did not feel the slight chill culminated with the heat of the sun, now he only felt the cold.

Eleriand shut his eyes until Serana pranced inside; in her normal attire. She stopped right beside him, lifting the thin blankets he was under and inspecting his leg and his shoulder.

"How do you feel?" She asked. "Can you move your leg?"

Eleriand attempted to rise; he was successful until he put his right leg on the ground, immediately falling flat on his face, letting out a cry of pain. Serana knelt to help him up, and he accepted it gratefully.

She pulled him up, and set him back onto the bed. "Where are we?" Eleriand asked, but she waited until his leg was on the bed before answering.

"Morthal." She said.

"Morthal? How did we get here?"

"Well," Serana began, "After you fainted, I managed to wrap up your injuries and stopped the bleeding, and to our luck a carriage driver happened to come by soon after, and offered us a ride free of charge. I could have paid him anyway, but if its free I'll take it."

"How long have I been out?" Eleriand asked.

"Believe it or not…a week."

"What? a week, it can't be possible."

"Well you were; and I think you were dreaming too, kept on thrashing around and talking about a White Dragon." Serana said.

Eleriand did not remember any dreams, but that did not mean that they never happened. Forgetting dreams was common; Eleriand only hoped they were not dreams that meant something.

"Are we at the inn?" Eleriand asked.

Eleriand was not sure, the one time he came to Morthal he remembered being unable to sleep due to the terrible bard that had been playing outside. He never returned since then.

"No; were in one of the citizens house, says he is the court wizard, though he isn't with the Jarl for some reason." Serana said. "He is the one who patched up your injuries and let you stay here."

Eleriand knew who she was talking about; Falion of Morthal, the Nords feared him, and Eleriand had heard some disturbing tales from the folk here the first time he came. All Eleriand knew for sure was that Falion was fascinated with vampires.

Serana wouldn't know; she couldn't. But Eleriand knew why Falion had allowed them to reside in his home, they needed to leave soon.

"Do you know who Falion is?" Eleriand asked.

"A nice man who offered to let you stay here until you recovered, why?" Serana asked.

"You may not know this due to your absence for three eras, but Falion has a reputation for being quite fascinated with vampires." Eleriand said.

"Oh." Serana said. "Well, this isn't a bad thing, as long as he doesn't cut us open to see if vampires have different parts than we should be fine."

"What have you said to him; does he know?" Eleriand asked.

"I didn't tell him anything, so unless he suspects, we should be okay." Serana said.

Eleriand sighed, Falion must have noticed; the man studied vampires all his life. He only hoped that Falion did not find new inspiration and decide to see if vampires possessed the same insides as others.

He saw Serana turn her head like a deer when Falion walked in; carrying a bottle that looked like it could have been a potion.

Falion had been an average sized man, his mage robes hid most of his body and his face was barely visible save his eyes, nose and a little bit of his chin. Everything else had been shrouded in mystery. Serana moved out of the way, allowing Falion to approach.

"Here, drink this; it should help with the pain." He said, giving Eleriand a bottle filled with red liquid. At first he suspected it was blood; but soon realized after tasting that it was not.

"It's my own special brew; you should be able to walk in around ten minutes." Falion said.

"Thank you, sir." Serana said.

"Also." Falion said. "I have these potions of blood should you grow thirsty."

Eleriand shot a look at Serana, but she was un-fazed. "Why would we want to drink blood?"

"Don't try to fool me; girl." He began, "I have been studying vampires since I could cast my first spell. You did not think I would not notice? But do not worry; unlike the other citizens of Skyrim, I do not fear your kind.

"You are not the first vampires to come under my roof; many have come to seek a cure from Falion of Morthal, you are not the first, and you will not be the last."

Eleriand saw as Serana made a certain expression during some part of Falion's speech. Her face changing from a hard, woman who had done what it took to survive; to curiosity.

But Eleriand paid her no mind, "We seek no cure; we are headed to the College."

"Truly?" Falion said, "My days at the College are far behind me, what brings you there, vampire?"

"Business." Eleriand said.

"As you will." Falion said. "But be careful when you leave, the Nords of Skyrim are not as forgiving of Vampirism as I am."

Falion left the room shortly after, leaving Eleriand alone with Serana. Something about her had changed during their short time with Falion. Eleriand did not care; his duty was to keep her safe, not listen to her problems.

He took the bottle Falion had given him and drank some more, the taste sweet in his mouth. Serana quietly sat in her chair, not speaking, Eleriand did not know what was wrong with her and he was not willing to find out.

"He said Vampires had come to him for cures…" Serana whispered to herself, but in the quiet of the room Eleriand could hear all.

"What of it?" Eleriand asked, but then he understood. When Falion had been talking Serana's mood had changed, and when he mentioned curing vampires, Serana had reacted with amazement and curiosity…and something else that he could not identify.

"You aren't planning to…" Eleriand began.

"Why can't I?"

"You are the daughter of Harkon, member of Castle Volkihar, you-"

"I'm not a member anymore, am I?" Serana began, her face growing angry. "I'm here with you, not in the Castle, and I don't intend on returning."

"You are a Vampire; girl!" Eleriand began. "You possess powers few could believe, and you would throw it away so you could be less thirsty, have you forgotten your precious Valor is also vampire?"

"It doesn't matter, this isn't his choice and it isn't your either; I am going to ask Falion about the cure, don't try to stop me." Serana said, looking at his leg, "Not that you can."

Eleriand would not chase her down; she was free to do as she wants. But Eleriand could understand her reasoning, who would want to live an existence like they did, always hiding from society, and being forced to feed or else face death. It was a hard life, one he would gladly be rid of, now that he no longer was required to attend Castle Volkihar.

Perhaps Serana was right, she could cure herself, and maybe Eleriand would do the same. He was ready to give up the life of a vampire.

He would speak to Falion soon.

**Okay...this chapter was hard to write...I don't know why, since nothing major happens; but I hoped you enjoyed it anyway!**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Power tastes best when sweetened by courtesy; you had best learn that if you ever hope to rule." -Roose Bolton to Ramsay Bolton. **


	18. Colharbour's Daughter

Coldharbour's Daughter

Serana had been contemplating curing herself for some time.

And now that her father was dead, and her mother in exile at the Soul Cairn, there had been nobody to keep her from doing it. She had never wanted to give herself to Molag Bal; for the memory still haunted her to this day. But it had been expected of her, her Mother had done it before her, she had no choice in the matter.

Now she would finally cure herself, she would be able to walk in the sun without feeling tired again. She would not have to drink blood every four days in order to survive; her body would not feel as cold as a glacier. She would be alive again, not the undead form of the Vampire, she thanked every God in existence for allowing her to meet Falion.

She had been waiting for Falion, who had left his home to go meet with Jarl Igrod, an old woman who claimed to see visions of the future. Falion had just come from seeing the Jarl when he let Serana and Eleriand in his home.

He said that the Jarl had been worried the whole day of something she had seen, and Falion had seemed just as puzzled. "She saw a man that looked like a Nord from afar, but closer he had more elven features. His hair had been pure white, and seemed to glow. And she saw that behind him was an army larger than any she had seen."

It had been ponderous dream, but Serana did not let it dwell on her. The woman's dream was not her problem; she had more important things on her mind. Like getting to the College of Winterhold, reading the Book of Talos and finding the Dragonborn.

Serana waited for Falion inside, she left Eleriand in the other room; she didn't know if he had gotten out of the bed yet, nor if the potion had worked. But she assumed it didn't due to the fact that he had not left the room yet.

Serana did not trust Eleriand at the slightest, she had tried to be nice to him; but he would ignore her or start an argument. He did not seem like a trustworthy person, but she stayed with him in hopes he could help her find Valor.

She had never forgotten the day that Valor had left the court, he had not said why he left; nor did he bid Serana farewell. She remembered him speaking with Vingalmo before leaving; but that was probably to give him leadership of the castle till he returned. That had been the last day she had seen him, and it had also been when Eleriand had come to the castle for the first time…Serana had always found that suspicious.

She had snapped out of her thoughts when the door had opened and Falion of Morthal had strutted forth, entering as if Serana had not been there.

"Excuse me, sir." Serana had said, rising from her chair.

Falion turned her direction. "Yes, what is it?"

"I was wondering if…if you could help cure me of vampirism?" Serana said.

"So, you are ready to shed the power of the night? Yes, I could; I have cured many vampires…I can cure you, but there are steps that must be taken." Falion said.

"Like what?" Serana asked.

"You will need to bring me a filled black soul gem, are you familiar with soul gems?"

"Very." Serana said, remembering her escapade in the Soul Cairn.

"Do you have a Black Soul gem with you?" Falion asked.

"No." Serana answered.

"Well, it just so happens that I have one for sale, you can buy it if you wish."

"Please," Serana said. Grabbing the only money she had left, she would give as much as possible to finally cure herself.

She handed Falion a big sack of coin, though she kept a few for herself, they would most likely need a carriage ride to Winterhold, and most carriage drivers did not work for free.

"That should do." Falion said. going to his enchanting table and grabbing the black soul gem, giving it to Serana shortly after.

"You must go and fill this soul gem with a black soul, then come back here and I will do the rest, soon you will no longer thirst, my undead friend."

Serana quickly ran out of the door, she would have to find perhaps a bandit or a rogue somewhere; she would not kill an innocent citizen; Serana would not stoop so low.

She quickly made her way to the outskirts, she had heard of a vampire cave nearby. Vampires would surely have human slaves or thralls that they kept in their service. Plus they were lower, baseborn vampires; if she ran into trouble she could surely overpower them.

She passed an array of homes and buildings, sprinting through the citizens. she had to do this fast, the quicker she could fill the gem the better.

She crossed over the stone bridge, the sun shining down on her; soon she would no longer feel weak while in the sun, she would be able to travel in comfort during the day.

She did not tire, her will to finally be her own person again outweighed her bodies limitations. She ignored all fatigue, and did not mind when the folk of Morthal gave her strange looks as she passed by.

She kept on going until eventually the town was behind her, and in front were the marshes; she walked cautiously, the gods only know what treacherous creatures lurk in the waters of the marshes. Serana had been here with Valor once, when they had been chased down by five large spiders, Serana did not wish to encounter those again.

She continued on until she was around twenty minutes time away from Morthal, she knew she must be near the cave soon, for the folk in the town said it was not far off.

But she stopped when she could hear voices from the distance, many voices; and an odd sound, like something was beating on the ground. The noise grew louder and louder, until Serana was sure it was close. It was then that she identified the sound as the beat of hooves, and the more she heard it, the larger the number seemed to be.

And then she saw, in the distance thousands and thousands of horsed riders came forward from the distance; they had pikes, swords, axes, and all other types of weapons in their hands or sheathed. She could not pinpoint the exact number of them, but it was surely more than fifteen-thousand at the least.

The man leading them rode upon a chestnut colored horse, steel armor covering its head and other body parts. The man's hair was gray, and his armor was of gold and crimson; he was not a young man, but he would not be considered elderly. As he and his men came closer, the man broke away from the rest of the army, while the rest of the large host continued on, the man and several other riders split off. It did not take long for Serana to realize they were approaching her.

Seven riders followed him as they circled Serana, eventually putting their horses in place and staying put, and the man rode upon her, looking down at her from the height of being on horseback.

"You're a while away from the next village my lady," The man said, "If you keep on going you'll find Morthal just ahead."

"I'm sorry," Serana began. "Who are you?"

"General Tullius of Cyrodiil, commander of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim, and you are?"

The name sounded familiar, but Serana could not remember a Tullius; she thought that Valor had mentioned him a few times, but she could have been mistaken.

"Serana, Daughter of Harkon." Serana said.

The General seemed to study her closely, Serana felt awkward, and she wanted him to stop.

"Have we met before" Tullius asked.

"I don't believe so, General Tullius." Serana said politely, he seemed an important man; and Serana would remember meeting someone of his position and stature.

"Your name sounds familiar…" Tullius began, "Did you know Legate Valor?"

It was if the divines had answered Serana's prayers. _Could he know where he is?_ She thought. She immediately felt hope.

"Of course, do you know where he is?" she asked, eager for his response.

"Afraid not, my lady. Nobody has seen him in years. I remember him mentioning a woman named Serana, so I was hoping you might know."

And all of Serana's hope had left her; she had hoped that this General Tullius would know, but perhaps it had all just been false hope.

"If you would ask of it, my lady; we could arrange for you to travel with us, surely we could find room for you in the camps, I'm sure if the Legate should return, he would surely report to me before doing anything else. Not only that, but it's safer with the protection of the Legion in these troubled times."

"May I ask where you are headed, General Tullius" Serana asked.

"You haven't heard? Well, there is danger abroad my lady, massive host of Draugr just at the Plains of Whiterun, and let's just say that the Legion is here to put that threat down immediately." Tullius said.

"Then I wish you good luck, General." Serana said.

"I will ask again, would you like to join us my lady? we will not ask of you to fight, but only to stay in the camps, perhaps help tend to the men. it's the most protection you can possible receive."

"I thank you, General; but I have some things to do on my own that will not require help from the Empire." Serana said.

"Very well, if you should change your mind; we will be in Labyrinthian for the next two days, meet us there if you wish, if not then enjoy your day. And stay safe, there are dangerous things about these days."

And with that the General departed, his other riders following, as he rejoined with the rest of the great host, who finally after five or so minutes passed Serana and went on their way towards Labyrinthian.

_I should have taken the offer._ Serana thought. But there was no need, she would not wait with the soldiers hoping that Valor would mysteriously come back; she had to find out where he was now. And she would continue searching as soon as she cured herself of Vampirism.

It took her only two or so more minutes to find the cave she identified as the one everybody had been speaking of.

_I'll just go in, take one of the Thralls souls and get out._ It would be quick, and Serana would then bring the gem to Falion and finally become her own person again.

She stepped into the dark cave, immediately receiving a dark vibe as she entered; she kept on going down until she came upon a wooden built in stair leading to the bottom where she saw the last thing she had wanted.

_Moe big spiders._ She thought.

There had been two, a mother and her baby, Serana could take out the baby quickly with just one blast of her lightning spell, but the mother was another problem, if she got close enough she could kill Serana on the spot.

She charged up her lightning spell, creeping down the stair so cautiously not even a fox could hear her. She kept on until the baby was in her aim, and she let loose her magic; watching as it shot down instantly, landing upon the baby, killing it on sight.

The mother then knew where Serana was, and shot out a venomous blob; almost landing on Serana's face, but thankfully she dodged it. And quickly after she brought down another bolt, but sadly it was a miss; but she answered back for her mistake with another, quickly killing the unsightly creature on the spot.

She ran down the steps, past the dead corpses of the huge spiders, and saw a small passageway leading to another section of the cave. She slowly then walked into the other section of the cave, and found what she was looking for.

A man…well an Orc; sitting on a chair before a table,. He had only a battle-axe equipped, but Serana did not count the battle already won, the axe was a deadly weapon if in the right hands; and an Orc was said to be a skilled warrior. She must be careful.

She kept quiet, if she could hit him quietly, she could finish this quickly, she crept up to him, readying the Soul Trap spell her mother had taught her three eras ago, although Serana had never used it, she grasped the essence of it.

She took her dagger, and like a snake she pounced forward with lightning speed, casting her soul trap spell while quickly slitting the throat of her enemy, feeling the warm blood run on her hands, she resisted the urge to lick her fingers, knowing that soon she would not have to. A strange sound came about and a light omitted from the dead Orc's body, Serana had assumed that had been the transfer from of the soul from the body to the gem.

She rose quickly, sprinting back from where she came, going back up the wooden stairs and out from the cave back into the marshes. She looked around and saw no trace of the soldiers; a good sign, there would be no distractions.

It had been only twenty minutes later when Serana saw Morthal again, now taking her time and not sprinting any longer. She did not want to grab the attention of any of the townsfolk, and cause them to start feeling suspicious.

She found herself at Falion's door not long after, opening it eagerly to find him and Eleriand both speaking to one another; she was astonished to see Falion handing Eleriand a black soul gem.

"I have it…um…what's going on here?" Serana asked, she would not believe that Eleriand would give up his vampirism.

"Your friend here is following your example and has asked for me to cure his vampirism; now that his leg is better he is able to do as he wishes." Falion said.

"Oh…okay." Serana said.

"And I see that you have you black soul gem…is it filled?"

"It is." Serana said.

"Good, then the ceremony will take place soon, come to me at dawn and we will go to the summoning circle, and you will be rid of your curse." Falion said.

"As for you," He said to Eleriand, "Take this gem and fill it with the soul of a mortal, then bring it back to me."

"Thank you," Eleriand said, putting the gem into his pocket, as he started towards the door. Serana moved out of his way, she could not believe that Eleriand had decided to cure himself.

"You may wait here, until dawn; then we will go." Falion said, and Serana waited.

She waited through the rest of the day and the night, messing around with Falion's alchemy table to save some time, trying to master a certain potion recipe containing Giants Toe, and Wheat. She failed several times until finally she got a decent mixture and filled a bottle with it. A simple restore health potion, easy to make for some, but it would help one day.

The day had ended and night began, and Serana waited eagerly for dawn. It had seemed like millennia, Eleriand had not returned yet, and Serana wondered if he had run into any trouble. There were many dangerous creatures out here, anyone could be killed.

Dawn came after hours of waiting, and Falion had then came up to Serana, "It is time." He said, and Serana followed behind him as he opened the door and left the house.

Not soon in the near future she would be a mortal again; she would live as a normal person would. Experience life without fearing the sun or sucking the blood from mortals, she wondered how different it would feel, she could not remember what it was like before she had been offered to Molag Bal.

Falion walked quickly, and Serana followed him at the same speed. It was not too long before they were on the outskirts of town. None of the citizens were awake yet, so there could be no suspicion.

They passed through the marshes, Morthal still not far behind. If there were any creatures lurking in the night, Serana did not see them, she did not want to run into a troll or have her foot bitten off by a slaughterfish.

It was not long after that when Serana saw their destination, the summoning circle; an odd stone structure with pillars surrounding a circular stone floor. Serana followed Falion to the circle.

"Please step in the middle of the circle." Falion asked her, and she did It without question, she did not know what would lie ahead, but she was eager to find out.

Falion withdrew from his pocket the filled black soul gem that Serana had given him. And for a moment Serana thought she could hear the voice of the soul inside, but Serana knew that she had sent that man to the Soul Cairn.

Falion spoke in a thundering voice, and Serana wondered if they could hear him in Morthal. His voice was so loud it could wake the creatures in the dark from their slumber immediately.

"I call upon the Oblivion realms, the home of those who are not our ancestors. Answer my plea! As in death there is new life, in Oblivion there is a beginning for that which has ended, I call forth that power! Accept the soul that we offer! As the sun ends the night, end the darkness of this soul; let her breathe from the fumes of mortality, return life to the creature you see before you!"

And it was as if a darkness clouded Serana, and she felt like a great, heavy burden had just been lifted off her shoulders; the world had felt different. And for the first time in eras, she no longer thirsted for blood, nor did she cower as the sun rose in the east.

After that, all she remembered was darkness, and Falion saying "The ritual is complete."

** Well here it is! The longest chapter in the entire story so far!**

** I really, really hope you liked it; since I actually enjoyed writing this chapter.**

** Should Serana have went with Tullius?**

** Leave a review if you liked it, and if you hated it then tell me too! I can take it.**

** And now for my favorite part…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man." -Varys the Eunuch, The Spider, Bane of Kevan, A good actor, friend of Illyrio Mopatis, and the only honorable man in King's Landing.**


	19. Tullius IV

Tullius

They had set up camp in Labyrinthian.

The ancient city had been dangerous, more than once had a soldier been mauled by a rogue troll, or some of the men from Cyrodiil had become sick from the cold. It was a treacherous place, but they would only stay for two days, after that they would ride to Whiterun, and war.

Tullius wondered if the woman Serana would take him up on his offer. He did remember much of what Valor had said about her; but Tullius remembered that Valor was as deep in love as the savior of Skyrim could be with a woman.

She had two days to come; the Legion would be able to provide protection in these dark days. But Tullius would not wait one extra minute if she was late or did not come; he had a war to win, and Draugr to kill.

The host of Fifteen-thousand soldiers had inhabited themselves inside the walls of the ancient Nordic city. It would serve as a good spot to stay for the next two days; the walls were high and they could see for miles ahead. Just in case the Draugr decided to head this way.

But no matter what he did, who he spoke with, he could not get the thought of the woman off his mind; the last known connection to where the Dragonborn could possibly be. But he could not force her to come; she would come if she felt necessary; Tullius would try not to dwell on it any longer.

Tullius had once again been with his council, as he always was. Aside from the absence of Legate Hrollod, who had taken five-thousand men to the Pale, everyone else was in the command tent. In attendance was Legate Fasendil, Legate Rikke, and Legate Skulnar, all in their Imperial heavy armor, and stood hunched over the map of Skyrim.

"We should leave Labyrinthian tomorrow night, so the darkness can cover us." Legate Fasendil said.

"The night will cover the Draugr as well, we should move at Dawn tomorrow, the dark will still cover us, and we will still be able to spot the Draugr host from far away." Legate Rikke said.

"Our objective is to draw them out of the city," General Tullius began, "We wan't to be visible."

The others then stopped speaking, Tullius knew he was right. In order for them to draw out the Draugr from Whiterun, they would have to be completely visible, so the Draugr would come out from their city and join the Legion in the plains.

"Now," Tullius said, "When we draw them out of the city, we must stay out of their range of fire from the city walls. Correct?"

"Indeed, General." Legate Fasendil said, "Far enough to where their arrows can't reach. But they can still see us."

"But this raises another question." Tullius said, "What of the Draugr that are in the Plains?"

"It's simple," Legate Fasendil began. "The number of the Draugr in the plains will surely not be able to withstand us; we cut through them till we get to the city."

Legate Fasendil's plan sounded simple, but in truth it would require a deal of energy and men. The plains were infested with Draugr, and it would cause many deaths and put them at a disadvantage when they marched outside the city.

"We have to hurry to Whiterun in order to save the men at Fort Greymour; they would have run out of food by now, assuming they were not all killed yet." Tullius said.

"One-hundred men could defeat five-thousand behind the walls of Greymour." Legate Skulnar said.

"That may be so; I believe I told Legate Dain that as well when I stationed him there." Tullius said. "But no wall, high or not, can stop hunger."

"They may be very weak, General; but they should still be alive and well inside Greymour." Legate Rikke said.

Tullius knew that they would have to free the men at Greymour soon, or else the five-hundred men that had been stationed there would be killed or die of starvation. He would do whatever it takes to help free those men.

"Greymour can hold for a time, we lift the siege on the fort, rescue the men, then we ride to Whiterun capital." Rikke said.

"Straightforward," Legate Skulnar said. "We ride through the Plains and destroy the enemy, and then we deal the final blow at Whiterun. After that we direct our attention to the Reach."

Tullius had forgotten about the fate of Markarth. No word had come from the city at all. Of course that could mean several things, but the one that stuck in Tullius' mind the most was if the city had fallen; and there were no couriers left alive to bear a message to Tullius.

"Is there any information on the number of Draugr left in Whiterun?" Tullius asked.

"Around thirty-thousand with the Draugr at the capital and in the plains combined." Legate Rikke said. "The other twenty-thousand are split between The Reach and the small force headed towards the Pale."

"Let's hope Legate Hrollod and his five-thousand men can hold the Pale for a time." Legate Fasendil said.

"Five thousand men should be able to keep the smaller host occupied for a few weeks, if used right." General Tullius said.

But Legate Rikke spoke up soon after that, "There is also the issue of the Draugr in the Reach possible coming as reinforcements." she said.

"No need to worry about that, it will take weeks for the host in the Reach to make their way to Whiterun; they would be too late to stop us." Legate Fasendil said.

"That may be true, but what if they are already on their way?" Rikke said.

She could be right, but for that to happen it would have to be already assumed that Markarth had fallen. Tullius did not believe that Markarth could have been overrun under the command of Legate Emmanuel Admand.

"Assuming Markarth still stands, we need not worry of reinforcements coming from the Reach." Tullius said.

"You may be right, but it is also possible that Markarth was taken; they were severely outnumbered, and there is no passage out of those mountains. As soon as the bridge goes down, Markarth might as well be handed to the enemy on a silver platter." Rikke said.

Tullius understood Rikke's reasons, but they would have to just hope that the Stone city could hold. Legate Emmanuel was a good commander, and the city would be resistant to fire, so the city could not be burned to the ground, only the crops would suffer the terror of the flames.

"We must hold faith that the men in Markarth hold their own, we have matters concerning Whiterun to worry about." Tullius began. "This is all the men we have; we cannot wait around and hope for the best, we must act swiftly and without mercy; and do our best with the men we have."

They understood then, it mattered not if reinforcements from Markarth or the Pale came back; they would ride to Whiterun anyways. They would conquer, and win back Whiterun, or they would die trying, there was no hope if they did not act.

"I believe this session is in order," Tullius began. "We will leave when the sun rises tomorrow. Our first destination is Fort Greymour, after that we head towards the Capital." And with that Tullius stood up straight, no longer hunched over the map. The other Legates soon understood, though Rikke stayed behind as always, the rest left the command tent.

"Do you believe we can win, General?" she asked, when everyone had left.

"If Dragons can return and resurrect each other, and if mortals can absorb their souls, if Deadra can invade Tamriel, and if one can simply shout and send another into pieces, then I think we can win a simple war."

**There it is! Sorry if it was short, but I felt obliged to get something out today, and honestly I have been struggling to write this chapter ALL day.**

** The Great battle of our time is coming, and it's gonna be BIG!**

** Now for my favorite part:**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "I think it passing odd that I am loved by one for a kindness I never did, and reviled by so many for my finest act." –Jaime Lannister, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Goldenhand, King of Twincest, and the truest knight that ever lived. **


	20. Dain III

Dain

"By the gods, somebody do something!"

Dain had been there, and had seen the horror that was before him, Edmund and Merek had been alongside him as they faced the Dark elf that had been in front of them.

His name had been Vanryth, a tall Dark elf with the typical black hair of a Dunmer. Vanryth had been a criminal back in the Imperial city, and had joined the Imperial Legion after leaving prison. Apparently he had been an avid worshiper of the Daedra; and had been stationed at Greymour along with Dain.

But the thing about Vanryth that had scarred Dain was not his past, but the man below him he was eating.

The Imperial soldier below Vanryth had his stomach completely cut open, and Vanryth had been feasting upon the flesh of the soldier. Vanryth's mouth had been coated in blood, as well as his hands. A carving knife used typically for a deer or elk had been on the floor not far from him.

"Son," Dain told him. "Please, for the good of the gods, stop eating the man!"

But Vanryth only replied with a rebuke. "I'm not going to die in here from hunger like the rest of you!"

Vanryth then unsheathed his Iron long sword. "Come and try me! I swear to Namira that I will cut you down and feast on you as well!"

He took another chunk of flesh from the dead man's corpse and stuffed his mouth full of it, a disturbing sound coming from him as the Dark elf's hunger was satisfied by the taste of human meat.

Dain only responded by unsheathing his sword as well. Edmund and Merek did the same, the sound of steel leaving its scabbard echoed through the completely silent fort. Dain saw no fear in Vanryth's eyes, which made him even more dangerous.

"I'll carve you three in the name of Namira!" Vanryth shouted, leaping forward like an animal ready to pounce upon its prey.

But these three were no pray, Merek lashed forward as well, followed by Edmund, steel waving in the air and battle cries coming from their mouths. But the Dark elf's speed had outmatched them, and he evaded the blows that came from the two, dodging with ease, rising back with a flurry of strikes with his sword, giving cuts and gashed to his enemies.

Edmund had been fine, but Merek had suffered a grievous wound, and fell upon his back soon after, his hand on the deep gash on his chest. Dain then rushed forward as well, joining the battle.

Vanryth then struck at Edmund with a ferocious strike, massing all his power into the blow. The blade cutting across Edmund's side, and blood spilled out as Edmund fell to the floor as well, joining Merek as they moaned in pain and agony.

Then Vanryth came for Dain, sprinting forward. His bloodlust would cause fear in any man, but not Dain. He rushed forward to meet him, and their blades met in a clash of steel. The swords locked together, but Dain then jumped backwards, to get out of Vanryth's reach.

He leaned forward, his sword arm jutting out the same direction in an attempt to stab the Dunmer. But Vanryth dodged the blade, and sped forward to deal the final blow.

But Dain summoned all his strength and sliced downward as Vanryth ran toward him; and Dain's blade created a huge gash across Vanryth's face, and then Dain went to deal the final blow. As Vanryth screamed in pain, Dain then took his sword and stabbed Vanryth in the stomach.

The Dark elf also fell down in pain, as Dain drop his sword on the ground, his enemy defeated. The soldiers that had stood and watched could not believe what they had seen.

Two soldiers rushed forward, passed Dain and to Edmund and Merek. "Somebody help us, these two need attention."

"Get them some potions." Dain said, "It will speed up the healing."

The soldiers rushed up to Edmund and Merek, along with the castle healer, who had a few potions in his hands.

"Somebody get the Elf's body away from me." Dain said, his stomach growling from hunger. And not soon after a few soldier went to carry the elf's dead body away, another few getting rid of the man that Vanryth had eaten.

Dain quickly sat down in the nearest chair, the fight had taken the last bit of energy that Dain had. There was no food to replenish it, and the Draugr still waited outside; Dain had accepted his fate.

The fate he accepted was that they were surely to die of hunger in this fort, and in Dain's honest opinion, Vanryth's actions did not surprise him. The elf was an avid Daedric worshiper, and most likely was starving, and from his words it had seemed like he had a fondness for Namira, whose coven was said to feed on the flesh of the dead.

Dain had hoped that General Tullius would have sent men to help, but he lost all faith in that thought. Either the boy that had gone to send the message had been killed, or he deserted and ran back to his wealthy parents. It mattered not anymore, Dain had accepted his inevitable doom, but at least he would die for the Legion, not when he was sickly and old.

The healer tended to Edmund and Merek, while the body of Vanryth and the dead man had finally been cleared from the scene, where they put them Dain did not know. He only hoped they found some way to get it out of the fort.

Dain got up from his chair and made his way back to where Edmund and Merek had been. The healer was sitting in front of Merek, giving him a potion of healing to dull the pain and speed up the healing. While Edmund sat on the ground not far away, waiting for his potion, clutching his injury in pain.

Dain knelt down next to Edmund. "You fought bravely, my friend."

"Fought…I didn't…even land a…hit." Edmund said through his agony, he was bleeding greatly through his side; he needed to be attended to immediately.

"Healer." Dain said, "Over here."

The healer finished tending to Merek and brought his second potion to Edmund, a bloody rag in his hand as well. He pressed the rag against Edmund's side, while forcing him to drink the potion as well. Although the rag would not stop the bleeding, it would serve for a short time.

Dain suddenly felt dizziness, almost causing him to all to the ground. Dain already deduced it as a side effect of going on without food. Dain was still surprised he was able to fight Vanryth with the amount of energy Dain had left.

"Their wounds are going to take some time to heal." The healer said. "They have not eaten in days, we need to get them some food, or the cuts will get infected faster than normal."

"Then looks like he is going to get an infection; we don't have any food." Dain replied. Suddenly his body felt cold all over. He felt as if he was freezing, he suddenly started shivering.

"Legate, are you okay?" one of the soldiers asked.

"I'm fine…just bring these two to a bed so they may rest." Dain replied, there was no need to bring worry to the men of what Dain was experiencing. He was sure they were probably going through it as well.

But Dain saw from the distance a soldier running from the spiral stairs. He was panting and almost keeled over when he came upon Dain, and was gasping desperately for air.

"Legate…we saw….from the tower…" the soldier said.

"What did you see?" Dain asked. Although there had been no true watchtower inside, but there was a small stair that led to a room with a small opening that enabled them to see outside.

"Men…thousands…come with me." The man said, and Dain immediately rose from his chair and followed the soldier up the spiral stairs that he had come down. Dain summoned up all his remaining energy and began to run with the soldier.

When they had gone completely up the stone stairs, the soldier led Dain through several rooms, running past an array of tables, chairs, empty plates where food once was, and weapons. They soon went up another set of spiral stone stairs that would lead to the watchtower.

When they had gone up the second set of steps they came upon the supposed watchtower. A simple room filled with weapons, armor, and arrows, all before an open square that was large enough to see out of.

Dain saw the Draugr that surrounded Greymour; they were beating at the steel gate but could do nothing against the hard metal. Dain saw as the plains were filled with Draugr as well, without organization. There were hundreds and thousands.

But then Dain saw what the soldier had obviously come to him for, a great host coming from the rolling hills, thousands upon thousands of soldiers stood in line behind one man upon a chestnut colored horse. Dain immediately identified the rider.

_Tullius._ Dain thought, and it was as if his heart had been filled with hope once again, and he watched as Tullius addressed his men. Although Dain was unable to hear him, he could tell he was giving a speech.

And then the Draugr saw the great host, and they drew all their attention to it. And with an array of battle cries, Dain saw as the Legion soldiers charged on their horses, spears, swords, axes, and dozens of other types of weapons ready for use. Dust was kicked up into the air as the horses and their masters charged into battle.

The Draugr met them in the field, but they were no match for the cavalry, and dozens of Draugr fell dead every second. A storm of arrows came from the sea of undead, but the numbers of the Legion were too many, and they rode down their enemy with sword and lance.

And then there was the ringing of the clash of steel all around. Draugr and man alike plunged into battle. And then the Draugr that surrounded Greymour withdrew from the gate, and they went out to aid the other, joining in the battle as well, leaving the gate and the fort.

Dain's heart leapt with joy as the Draugr were pummeled by the sheer numbers of Tullius' men. He heard the cries of men as they fought for their home; he heard the terrible voices of the Draugr as they met their doom upon the plains of Whiterun.

The remaining Draugr ran back in the direction of the capital city, and then Tullius rode into the courtyard of Fort Greymour with some of his riders, the other men finished of the remaining Draugr that were nearby.

"Tell the men to open the gate," Dain said, as he was filled with joy. ""Now!"

And then the soldier ran down the stairs he had come up not long ago, sprinting as fast as he could, but Dain walked down the steps slowly. He had never felt more joyful or happy in his entire life. The General had answered his call for help, and they would live another day.

It took a few minutes, but Dain soon found himself on the first floor after walking down two flights of spiral stairs. And he came upon a great sight, the steel gates open; and inside came General Tullius, with him several other soldiers. The men inside Greymour rejoiced, for their lives had been saved.

"Legate." Tullius said as Dain approached.

"General." Dain said with a smile, he would not hide that he was glad of Tullius' arrival.

"It seems we arrived just in time," Tullius said.

"Your right, if not we would have been done for." Dain replied.

"Is there anything you need Legate? It's the least I can do for the trouble you have gone through." Tullius said.

"Some food would be nice."

**There it is, Dain is free! Greymour is saved! **

** Although I assure you, Tullius has not won Whiterun yet, that was only the beginning, and the battle has only just begun!**

** What did you think? Did you like it? Hate it? Tell me, I can take it!**

** And now…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "You feed your dog bones under the table, you do not seat him beside you on the high bench." –Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, the Lion, Bane of the Starks, Golden haired, and the worst father in Westeros.**


	21. The Blade

The Blade

"Take the bread, it will last a while. And the vegetables too!" Kathil said.

Ahzam scoured the tables for any bread or raw vegetables he could find. There were only a few tables, and he had to take all the food he could find that would not spoil in a day. He filled his small sack quickly, shoving in loaves of bread and vegetables of all kind.

Ahzam was a Redguard, Kathil as well. It had been one of the reasons they had gotten along so well during their time with the Blades. Kathil had been Ahzam's closest friend; they had trained with the Blades together, and joined the ranks of the ancient Dragonslayers not two years ago.

Ahzam was relatively young, only nine-teen. His hair had skin short and he was not very muscular. He was tall but skinny, and he was clad in the heavy armor of the blades, built to withstand a sword and a dragon's claw alike.

Kathil on the other hand was different, he was shorter than Ahzam, and he was not as skinny either, though not fat. He had a thin beard, whereas Ahzam was clean shaven. Kathil's arms had been very muscular, and his hair had been dark and long.

"Is that everything?" Kathil asked.

"I think so." Ahzam replied.

"How much do we have?"

"Several loaves of bread, and a few tomatoes, plus a cabbage." Ahzam said.

"That's good enough," Kathil said. "We have to find everyone else and get out of here, come on!"

Kathil ran forward in a rush, Ahzam followed not far behind. Sky Haven Temple was as silent as a crypt, but you would not be able to tell with what was happening just outside in the Karthspire.

The inside of Sky Haven temple was dark, and Ahzam found it hard to see anything that was not directly in front of him. All he could see was Kathil running before him, and the stone walls as they rushed down the stairs.

"Where is everyone?" Ahzam asked.

"In the Karthspire most likely, fending off the Draugr." Kathil said.

The Reach had been attacked by Draugr not two weeks ago, and it had taken the Draugr a long time to notice the temple. The Forsworn outside in the Karthspire camp had held them for a day or two, but they could not withstand them. When the Draugr came knocking on Sky haven temple's door, Delphine had ordered the entirety of the Blades to defend the temple, while Ahzam and Kathil went and gathered all the food that they could take in case the Blades had to leave.

"Look, there's some more bread on the table!" Kathil shouted.

On the table in the main hall of the temple were a few more loaves of bread, plus one potato. Ahzam quickly put them in the small sack, always looking at Alduin's wall.

It had been the thing that had always sparked wonder and curiosity whenever he looked upon it. The craftsmanship had amazed him, and the fact that the ancient Akaviri had predicted events that would come hundreds to thousands of years later. But soon this wonder would be left to the Draugr if the temple could not be defended.

The Blades were a small force, around thirty or so men and women, led by Delphine and Esbern. Although the Blades were formerly lead by the Dragonborn of legend, nobody had seen him ever since he and Delphine had a falling out concerning Paarthurnax, the supposed leader of the Greybeards. Ahzam had just been recruited a few days before that day, and he remembered the Dragonborn storming out of Sky Haven temple, never to return.

"Is that all the food?" Kathil asked.

"Yes." Ahzam said.

"All right then," Kathil said, "Come on, we need to get some weapons."

Kathil started towards the small armory, Ahzam followed, the sack still in his hand. The armory was a small room filled with a few sets of Blades armor, and several weapons racks containing swords, axes, hammers, and all other types of weapons used in battle. Before them was a desk containing handbooks for different types of weapons, telling the reader how to use them properly.

Ahzam grabbed the Blades sword from the rack. It was a slender blade, easy to swing quickly without having to use too much strength. It was long and had been a one sided blade, the handle easy to grip.

"Into swords, huh? I'm more of an axe person, myself." Kathil said, grabbing a steel war axe from the rack. Ahzam had never liked any other weapon than swords, axes were too heavy, and maces he could barely swing. Daggers were too light, and required the man to get too close to the enemy; the sword was the perfect weapon.

Ahzam turned when he heard the sound of battle outside, and the clashing of steel. The door leading to Sky Haven temple had opened, and in came twenty or so blades. Several severely injured and needed help walking or needed to be carried. Leading them was Delphine, her blade unsheathed. Esbern was with her as well.

The doors to the temple shut quickly, not allowing any of the Draugr to come through. Delphine and the remaining Blades made their way to the main hall, bringing the injured and setting them in the chairs.

"What happened?" Kathil asked.

Delphine approached the two, "We lost ten or so blades; there are too many Draugr outside. We could not hold them at bay."

"What do we do now?" Ahzam asked.

"The stone doors will keep them out for now, but it's only a matter of time before they ram it down." Delphine replied, "How much food do we have?"

"This is it." Ahzam said, showing Delphine the small sack full of bread and vegetables.

"That's it?" Delphine asked, "We will have to make do with what we have for now."

Delphine turned away from Ahzam and Kathil and shouted. "Esbern!" The old man approached her, limping as he walked.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Is there another way out of here?" Delphine asked, "Are there any underground passages or escape routes?"

"The ancient Akaviri built many passageways to lead out of the mountains, though I cannot guarantee that there will be no Draugr on the other side of the passage."

"Find one of those passages for me, Esbern. We need to get out of here." Delphine said. It was not a command, but a request.

"Don't worry, I think I know where one might be." The old man said, and rushed away as fast as he could in his age.

"I've got men keeping the doors shut, until the Draugr find a way to bring them down, we should be safe." Delphine said.

Moans of pain came from some of the injured Blades; and Delphine left Ahzam and Kathil to themselves. Ten Blades had fallen defending the temple; it was a death worthy of song for some, but Ahzam found himself mourning for the lost, many of the men and women that did not return had been his friends, people he had trained with when he had joined the Blades.

"This isn't good, I hope Esbern finds one of those passages, or else we are doomed." Kathil said.

"Have faith, my friend." Ahzam said, "We can still survive this."

"Perhaps, but it is a small possibility." Kathil replied.

"A small possibility is better that no possibility." Ahzam said.

"You may be right, but no matter. Being optimistic is good; too much of it though may get you killed."

A bang came from the stone doors, and everyone immediately grew quiet. Even the injured men and women stopped moaning in their pain to listen. _Impossible,_ Ahzam thought, _No battering ram could bring down those stone doors._

But soon they realized that the sound was more than a banging. Ahzam heard a guttural language come from outside, he could hear the terrible voice shout from inside the temple. And the stone doors moved slightly. The voice continued its shouting when Esbern had returned to Delphine.

"Delphine, I found a passage-"

The shout came again, and Ahzam heard as the voice shouted once again in its guttural language. And it was if a gust of wind blew past Ahzam as he heard the doors open with a crack, as if the doors had broken. And in stormed the Draugr, ready to kill.

The members of the Blades that still lived unsheathed their weapons, and met the enemy in front of Alduin's wall. Steel met steel and blood was spilt upon the ancient Akaviri temple. Many Draugr were slain by the mighty Blades, but the Dragonslayers suffered casualties as well, several Blades had been felled by the sheer numbers of the Draugr.

Ahzam himself had been with Kathil when the Draugr stormed in. Ahzam kept his sword ready, and did not shy away from battle when they approached. He held his own, swinging his sword to and fro, cutting down as many Draugr as he could find. He had helped kill dragons; no Draugr would bring him down just yet.

Delphine had been near Ahzam when Esbern rushed towards her during the battle. "Delphine, we have to get out of here, there are too many of them!"

More Blades had fallen before Delphine could make her decision, "Let's go, come one; you too, Ahzam."

"Kathil, come on!" Ahzam called out, and the Redguard heard him and followed. They passed the battle, Delphine and Esbern running to the rooms where the members of the blades would sleep, abandoning the battle.

"What about the others?" Ahzam asked.

"The only way for us to escape is to leave secretly; we can't do that if everyone comes with us. They are Nords; this is the death they would want anyways." Delphine said.

Ahzam did not agree with Dephine's belief, he did not think they should leave the others to their death. But it was not his place to question Delphine, he was just a new recruit, his voice did not matter in this subject.

Esbern led them to the last bed in the room. And Delphine pushed it out of the way, revealing an escape door underneath.

"According to the ancient tomes I have read, this is one of the three exits out of Sky haven temple, this should lead out of the mountains and into the very outskirts of Whiterun." Esbern said.

"Good," Delphine said, opening the stone door to reveal a pitch black tunnel, Delphine put her foot down and began to climb down the ladder. Esbern followed soon, and then Kathil went down as well, but Ahzam stayed for a minute and watched through the very thin hallway as the remaining Blades were cut down. He wanted to go and help them, but he knew it would mean his doom.

He climbed down the wooden ladder and into the dark tunnels beyond, the sack of food still in his hand.

**There it is! I really hope that you all liked it!**

** To all of you who may not know, Paarthurnax is still alive, the Dragonborn did not kill him!**

** If you liked it then tell me! If you hated it then tell me also! Don't worry, I can take constructive criticism well.**

**And now…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "And when I die, please let them bury with me a crossbow, so I can thank the Father Above for his gifts the same way I thanked the Father Below." Tyrion Lannister, son of the mighty Tywin, the Halfman, the Imp, Heir to Casterly Rock, husband of Tysha, strangler of Shae, and the greatest Lion to ever live. **


	22. The Defiled Daughter

The Defiled Daughter

She had awoken the next day no longer a vampire.

When she had opened her eyes in Falion's bed, she immediately noticed that she did not thirst for blood. Instead, she thirsted for water, something she had not drunk in eras. She noticed that her sense of hearing had gone down as well, before she could hear a bird a mile away, now it was different, more…normal.

Serana noticed that her sense of smell had gone down as well, but that was not necessarily a bad thing. When a bad smell had come along, Serana would feel ready to die. She rose in the bed, rubbing her tired eyes. She was back in Falion's house, and she could see him as he opened the door.

"Welcome, my friend. You are mortal once again." Falion held a polished metal plate known as a mirror. "Here, have a look."

Serana held the mirror up to her face, and was astonished to see a face she had not seen in so long. Before she had been offered to Molag Bal to be defiled against her will, before she had become a creature of the night, frowned upon by the mass of society.

Her skin had gone from pale, back to the normal color it had been before. It no longer looked as if she had never left the inside of her castle. Her eyes, which once were bright orange, and glowed as bright as a torch, were now like all nords, a dark blue. She looked more human, and she liked to think it made her look better.

_I wonder what Valor will think._ Serana thought, he was a vampire, and although it was her choice to make; she still hoped that he would not mind. Though the more she thought about it, she came to the consensus that if he truly loved her like he said, he would accept her.

And then the most surprising thing had happened to Serana ever since she had been freed from her tomb.

She was hungry…for food.

"Well, you look like a mortal again. Your friend is here too, in the other bed; he went out cold just like you did after I cured him." Falion told her.

Serana had almost forgotten about Eleriand. She remembered how shocked she was when she saw him buying the black soul gem. She never imagined Eleriand wanting to cure himself, but then again…she didn't really know anything about him.

"I need food." Serana randomly blurted out. And Falion chuckled.

"I bet you do, it's probably been a long time since you have eaten regular food."

"You have no idea." Serana could not remember the last piece of regular food she had eaten. It _had_ been several eras since she had been transformed into a vampire.

"I have some bread and cheese in the other room, if you would like to have some." Falion told her.

"Thank you." Serana told him, rising completely from her bed, putting the mirror from her hand onto the dresser just nearby. She followed the wizard as he left the room, opened the door and held it open until he passed.

And then she saw Eleriand in the other bed, and she noticed that his skin was not as pale as it had been before. He looked like a High Elf once again. He was in a deep sleep upon the bed, thankfully he did not snore, or else Serana would have been driven crazy.

She saw the table with several loaves of bread and a wheel of cheese that had been carved into tons of slices. She pulled back the chair and sat down, grabbing the loaf of bread in her hand and stared at it for a while.

"Excuse me, but do you have any water?" She asked.

"Just boiled it, I assumed you two would be thirsty when you awoke; let me get you a cup." Falion said.

He went over to the hearth, where the bucket of water had been boiling to cleanse it from the possible diseases it could carry. He took the bucket of the spit, and grabbed a wooden cup, dipping it into the bowl and filling it with hot water.

He set the cup on the table in front of her, steam rising from it. Serana took a bite from the bread, and remembered how much she loved it before she had become a vampire so many years ago. She took another bite from the cheese, and found the taste amazing. Then she took the wooden cup and stared at the water inside. It was so…clear. And it was not as thick as blood either; she stared into its depths, until she was sure she could see a reflection of herself inside of it. She drank the boiled water inside, and remembered the taste of hot water, and how terrible it was. Not as bitter as blood, but definitely not good.

Serana turned from her chair when she heard someone mumble, and saw as Eleriand was waking from his sleep. He rose in the bed slowly, and rubbed his eyes just like Serana did. And when he was fully awake, Serana saw his face as he realized he was no longer a vampire. An astonished look covered him, and Falion came up to him with the same mirror he had given Serana.

"Here, take a look." Falion told him, handing Eleriand the mirror. Serana watched as he looked at himself through the metal plate. Serana took another sip from the water, watching.

"Perhaps you would like some food and water, like your friend here?" Falion asked him, and Eleriand immediately noticed Serana's presence. He got out of the bed, walking very slowly to the table Serana sat at, finding another chair and dragging it to the table. He sat down next to her and grabbed a piece of bread, and scarfed it down in not even two seconds.

Falion brought Eleriand a cup of water just like Serana's, and he drank it all as soon as he got it, slamming the bottom onto the table. He grabbed a piece of cheese, and looked Serana in the eyes, most likely studying her new, mortal appearance.

"You two eat breakfast, I have to speak with the Jarl, make sure she did not have any more visions while I was gone." Falion told them, and left his home; leaving the two at the table in silence.

They did not speak for some time, Serana continued to eat, and Eleriand as well. Serana tried to think of something smart to say, but all that came out was…

"You don't look as pale as before." She said, and Eleriand stopped eating the slice of cheese he had taken from the table.

"Can you tell I am a high elf now?" Eleriand asked.

"Definitely, your skin is golden again." Serana smirked; she enjoyed talking with Eleriand when he did not act like a complete jerk.

"Well, your skin is not as pale as well…although you are a nord, so it mostly looks the same." Eleriand said.

Serana took another bite from her bread. She had her suspicions about Eleriand, and she felt that now was the time to confirm them.

"I have to ask you something…" Serana said.

"What is it?" Eleriand said, sounding slightly annoyed.

"Why did you come to the castle?" she asked.

"Garon Marethi turned me, and I needed a home among my own kind." Eleriand said, taking a few more bites from the piece of bread and the slice of cheese.

Serana did not believe him, there had to be a reason why he came to the castle the day that Valor had left.

"Tell me the truth." She randomly blurted out, and Eleriand did not say anything, he just continued to eat his food and drink his water.

"Eat," Eleriand said, "You need your strength up for the journey. Winterhold is a long distance away."

Serana knew that he was trying to change the subject of the conversation, but Serana would not have it. She knew he was lying, she could tell by his body language.

"Don't lie to me," Serana said, "Why did you come to the castle?"

"I already told you," Eleriand said, rising from his chair, "Garon turned me and told me of the castle, so I went."

He tried to walk away, going to the other room, but Serana spoke up.

"I find it interesting that you came to the castle the same day that Valor left."

Eleriand stopped walking, and he turned to Serana. He did not say anything, nor did he move. Serana waited for him to say something, but it took him a minute to finally speak up.

"You want to know why I came to the castle, girl?" he said, "I will tell you, I was sent here by a friend to watch over someone in the castle. Can you guess who I was to watch over, and who sent me?"

A child could know the answer to this problem. Serana was no fool, she could fit two and two together, she knew the answer.

"You were sent to watch over me…by Valor."

"Indeed, you are not as stupid as you seem, girl." Eleriand said, "I made a promise to the Dragonborn to watch over you until he returned. Gods know I would have left you a long time ago if I did not make a promise. I keep my word, girl; I may not like you, but I knew the Dragonborn for many years. Certainly longer than you did."

It was as Serana had suspected, she knew there was a reason that Eleriand had come to the castle the day that Valor had left.

"My duty is to watch over you, no more." Eleriand said, "There is a reason I took you with me when I fled the castle. Until the Dragonborn returns from wherever he is, I have a duty to make sure that nothing happens to you. Well…nothing dangerous. And if the Dawnguard finally decide to attack the castle like they have been planning, then it is a good thing I brought you with me; or else Valor would return to your dead corpse."

Serana then understood why he had taken her with him. it all made sense in her mind, Valor had given him a job to watch over him while he was away.

"So, when Vingalmo was planning on killing you…you took me and fled, because you told Valor you would watch over me." Serana said to herself, but she knew Eleriand could hear her.

"I never served the castle, I served the Dragonborn and he served the Dawnguard." Eleriand said.

The last words that Eleriand said had shook Serana, what could he mean? Valor had slayed Harkon and become lord of the castle, how could he be with the Dawnguard?

"I can see the confusion in your face girl." He began, "Valor and I may have been a vampire in the body, but not in the heart. He had no true loyalty of the castle, and neither did I. You never saw him sending letters when you were with him?"

"No…" Serana whispered to herself, had everything she had known about Valor been a lie? She hoped not, perhaps it was just this one thing.

"He was sending letters to the Dawnguard even before he became lord of castle Volkihar. The Dawnguard decided to take the smart route and have an infiltrator inside the castle, Valor was willing to become a vampire in order to serve them. A great gesture, but when Isran recalled him, saying that the time was right; He would not leave just yet, kept on saying that he had to make sure someone was safe…could you guess who that person is?"

Serana knew that answer as well, but she kept silent.

"I can see the confusion in your face. Do not worry, girl; Valor loved you more than your parents did, that much is for certain." Eleriand began, "He kept this a secret even from you, he would not even tell me, I had to find out in other ways."

Serana still did not say anything, trying to soak up everything that Eleriand had told her. It was not hard to believe, now that she thought about it; Valor showed no seriousness when it came to castle affairs, preferring to be around Serana then spend the day talking politics with Vingalmo and Orthjolf. Neither did he tend to most of the castles needs. That was appointed to Garon Marethi…Valor really didn't do anything in the castle.

The door opened and Falion walked inside. He looked at Eleriand who was standing and then to Serana, who looked shocked.

"The Jarl had another vision, claimed she saw a great battle in a field, and from the skies came a dragon, and its rider was shrouded in darkness. I told her it was nonsense, but she insisted it was true." Falion said.

Eleriand went back to his chair and drank the rest of the water. Serana still just sat there, not saying anything.

"Well, I assumed you two will be on your way soon, feel free to take as much food as you need." Falion told them.

They departed Morthal, giving Falion one last farewell. There was no carriage driver in Morthal, so Serana and Eleriand would need to walk. At least until they got to the next city, where perhaps they could find a nice, cheap carriage to take them to Winterhold.

They had taken several loaves of bread, more cheese, some raw vegetables and a sweet roll. Serana only hoped that someone would not steal it.

As they left the village they had resided in for several days, Serana saw that it was getting smaller and smaller as they walked through the snow. It eventually got to the point to where she could no longer see the small town of Morthal, just the wilderness ahead.

Serana and Eleriand did not speak most of the time, she kept to herself. She had learned a lot of things recently, but the thing that had shocked her most was that Valor was working with the Dawnguard. She never suspected such a thing, but then again; he had never told Serana his reasons for joining the castle. But now she did, his duty was to be a spy inside the castle for the hunters.

Although it did not shock her as much, she was also surprised of what Eleriand had said. He had been sent to watch over her by Valor, yet it did not seem like it, as he did not even check to see if she was following. She could just leave at this second and he would not even know. She had been tempted to do just that, but she resisted the urge to leave, she had to find the Dragonborn, and Eleriand was her only chance of doing so.

The snow was ankle deep, not much for the nords of Skyrim, but Serana could tell that Eleriand was having trouble moving through the snow. The sun was down and it was night time. Serana noticed that she no longer felt a boost of energy during the night like she did before. Nor had she felt warred down the next day in the sun.

Days went by as they traveled, they ate very little, but enough to serve. They still did not speak. Serana knew that they were inside the Pale by then. Five days had passed and yet they still wandered the icy fields, trudging in the snow.

But they stopped when they heard voices, several voices. Male and female, Eleriand looked at Serana and said, "Don't worry, maybe they are friendly."

From behind the two was a large group of twelve or thirteen people. In the lead was a woman with war paint on her face, her hair was either brown or a dark red. She wore an armor that Serana remembered some of the warriors would wear when she was a child in the first era. A bow was in her hand, and her and the group stopped before them.

"What brings you here, travelers?" she said.

"We are heading to Winterhold, I am Eleriand, and this is Serana. Who might you be?"

The woman spoke, "Aela the Huntress, this is the Companions, also with us is the Jarl of Whiterun."

"Where are you headed?" Eleriand asked.

"Solitude, to seek safety and protection." Aela said.

"Safety from what?" Eleriand asked.

"You haven't heard? There is a massive host of Draugr just in the plains of Whiterun, burned the whole place to the ground. We were lucky to escape alive."

"Truly?" Eleriand began. "Well, I hope you and the others make it to Solitude then."

"And may you have a good journey to Winterhold."

Eleriand looked to Serana, "Come, we have a long way to go." And Serana followed, when she looked to the group, the girl Aela had an odd face, land she looked to Serana.

"Do I know you?"

"I don't believe so." Serana said, and with that she speedily followed Eleriand through the snow.

They left the large group quickly. They had to get to Winterhold, they could not allow anyone or thing to distract them. It was a two week long journey to Winterhold; they had to keep their mind on the destination.

The wilderness was treacherous, but she survived, as the Nords always have. Eleriand began to lag behind, exhaustion coming to him.

"Maybe we should set camp for the night?" Serana asked.

"Yeah…a good idea." Eleriand said, panting.

Later on they had set up the tent they had, Serana slept soundly that night, while Eleriand slept outside. Serana would have given him the tent, but he insisted. Serana was surprised; he did not act nice often.

And when she fell asleep, she dreamt she was in a field where wheat was grown. And in the distance she saw a figure, which then she identified was indeed Valor. She ran, but it was as if she could never get closer to him, and eventually after running she grew tired. And soon Valor disappeared. Then the field went away, and she saw she was in a great battle. All around her were men in golden armor. Then that too disappeared, and f=then she saw a figure she never wanted to see again.

It was a humanoid figure with the head of a goat and the body of a monkey, and from him came a sense of foreboding. In his hand was a mace, its spikes terrible, and darkness came from it.

And next to him was another, with a golden mask, and two tusks came from it. His robes were golden and he laughed. Serana could not see his face, but it was still enough for her to be terrified until she awoke the next day.

**Well there it is! This chapter was pretty long in my standards, and I really had to move the Eleriand/Serana plot along, as I was planning for it to be way further than it is right now.**

** So yes, Valor the Dragonborn was secretly a Dawnguard after all! His duty was to spy on Harkon and all the goings on in the castle, but he inevitable ended up slaying Harkon just like the vampire quest line. **

** I had a little trouble with the part when Eleriand was telling Serana why he was really in the castle, so if you didn't like that part I understand.**

** And now…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "A bag of dragons buys a man's silence for a while, but a well-placed quarrel buys it forever." –Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, Master of coin, lord protector of the Vale of Arryn, lover of Cat, bane of Lysa, and the only man who can put a kingdom in more debt than Robert Baratheon. **


	23. Tullius V

Tullius

The capital city of Whiterun was only a mile ahead, and it was if a cloud of darkness surrounded it. The host of Legionnaires stood in line, and in the very front was Tullius atop his horse. Alongside him were Legate Fasendil, and Skulnar. Legate Rikke had returned to Solitude to protect the citizens in case of any possible danger over there.

They had stood there in line for almost half an hour, waiting for the Draugr to some from the city. Outside form the conversations among the men, the city of Whiterun had been as silent as a crypt. Remains of the first battle of Whiterun were still noticeable, the wood that remained was as black as charcoal; the rest was ash or had been destroyed. Whiterun would be barely recognizable to the outsider.

_It's been burned, all of it._ Tullius thought. Dragonsreach had been darker than night. Well…all that remained of it. Almost the entire top half had been burned to the ground, leaving an open crater instead of a roof upon the once proud palace. Tullius found himself wondering if Jarl Balgruuf had survived the attack.

It had been a while before Tullius could hear loud noises coming from Whiterun. The sound of a gate opening, and the shrill cry of the Draugr. He could hear their chanting from the outskirts, in the terrible language that had been the Draugr's. He could not make out what they had been saying, and Tullius did not want to find out.

From the city came the Draugr. Thousands and thousands, more kept on coming until Tullius gasped at the amount. He had no idea how that many Draugr could fit in the city. More kept on coming until Tullius ordered the men to back up their forces.

When they had gone back and had enough space, Tullius kept an eye on the enemy as the numbers grew even larger. Tullius found himself wondering if the gates of Whiterun would ever close shut.

"Tell the men to ready their bows." Tullius told Legate Fasendil.

"Draw bows!"

The host did as they were ordered; thousands of Legionnaires all simultaneously drew the bows and held them firmly. Tullius sat atop his horse patiently; he would wait for the enemy to make the first move.

"Ready arrows!" Legate Fasendil shouted.

The soldiers all put arrows to string, fifteen thousand men readied to fire at any given second. But still Tullius waited, he studied the Draugr host intently, they were indeed around thirty-thousand at the most. More than Tullius had, but still beatable if luck was on their side.

And it was then that the Draugr stopped their chanting, and it was silent. Tullius could hear the occasional soldier whisper, but aside from that you could hear a bird chirping miles away. Then all the Draugr drew their swords and other weapons, although they still stayed put.

"_Duaan!_" A voice came out from the distance, where, Tullius did not know. And the Draugr force charged, their weapons at the ready. Dust and dirt being kicked into the air as the great force moved forward as one.

"Now." Tullius said.

"Fire!" Legate Fasendil shouted out, and with the twang of fifteen-thousand bows, a storm of arrows was sent out into the sky. Soaring through the air, it had been a marvelous sight, and when the arrows fell down upon the Draugr it sent them down to their deaths. But more kept coming.

"Ready. Fire!" Legate Fasendil shouted again, and another flurry of arrows went up to the clouds, coming down with sheer force, piercing the old armor of the undead Nords. Still more came, and more fell upon the plains of Whiterun, Tullius felt a brief sense of hope run through him.

Then, when Tullius felt the enemy was getting too close for comfort he shouted, "Weapons at the ready!" Tullius unsheathed his own broad sword. And the fifteen-thousand men behind him did as well, readying their pikes, maces, swords, axes, and any other type of weapons they had at their disposal.

The soldiers charged upon their horses, the noise could be heard for miles. The soldiers let out a battle cry, "For the Empire! For Skyrim!" they shouted as they rode forward, General Tullius leading them, his sword at the ready. The Draugr charged forward as well, suddenly Tullius knew they could defeat the Draugr. They were on horses after all; the army with the better cavalry always won the battle.

The two forces met in the fields, a clash of swords rang through the plains of Whiterun. The ring of steel on steel came upon Tullius' ears like a shock. The Legionnaires rode the Draugr down easily, posing no challenge. No foot soldier could defeat a mounted one. The pike-men lead the host, stretching their arms outwards and piercing the Draugr with their spears and pikes.

Scream came about in the battle. The sound of horses panicking and soldiers being killed would haunt most men. The Draugr continued to chant as they fought, making it all the more terrifying to the General as they battled. No battle cry could overshadow the terrible language the undead Nords shouted.

As the battle thickened, the host had separated; it was now an all-out battle. Still riding with Tullius had been Legate Fasendil and Skulnar, but the rest of the host had been scattered, every man was for himself. Now it would become a battle of who wanted victory more, who would fight for what they loved, or what they hated.

Tullius found himself thinking that this battle was a lot like when he faced the Stormcloaks. An incredibly outnumbered and outmatched army still went forward into battle because they had a belief, or loved something that they were willing to fight for. Tullius had never thought he would find similarities between the Legion and the rebels, but perhaps he was wrong on that matter.

Tullius cut down from atop his horse, felling many Draugr. He could not count how many, but he assumed he had brought down at least five Draugr so far. The soldiers fared just as well, as Tullius could tell that the battle seemed to be going in their favor. Something he initially did not expect to happen.

But then Tullius heard a great roar from the distance. And a large shadow passed over him, and as he looked up he could see the outstretched wings of a dragon. But this one was larger than any Tullius had ever seen, even bigger and more deadly looking than the dragon Tullius had seen at Helgen. Its spikes were long and threatening, and it's scales were the color of fire. It opened its mouth and let out a burst of flames, and upon the mighty beast was a rider. Who's mask symbolized malice and power, his clothes were that of gold and black, and he held the reins of the Dragon with one hand, while he held a sword in the other. Fire swirled around the blade, and it glowed brighter than the flames that had come from the dragon's mouth.

Then the rider shouted in the language of the Draugr, and it was as if he was calling out to something. He yelled into the air, his dragon flying lower to the ground; using its claws to snatch up soldiers and then drop them to the ground. It then went down once again, a let loose its fire upon the Legionnaires. Tullius could hear as his own men screamed as their flesh was burned to a crisp.

Tullius tried to ignore the dragon as he continued to cut down all the Draugr that dared be in his way. None stood a chance against his steel blade, and he brought down even more Draugr than before.

The battle fared worse than it had before, when the rider upon his dragon had come, it was as if the Draugr fought harder than they did before. And the Legion felt this, losing countless good soldiers to the enemy. The great Dragon dealt much damage as well, wreaking havoc upon the Legion.

But Tullius kept on, the two Legate's still close behind. They no longer led the foray, and in fact were in the heart of the battle, inside the very middle along with several other Legionnaires. Some no longer atop their horses any longer. Battle was all around them, and there was no way out should they need to flee, they were in the heart of the conflict. The most dangerous part of the battle.

Then Tullius looked up, and from the far distance he saw several figures coming from the sky. At first he thought they were birds, perhaps hawks or eagles. But he soon realized they were no birds, but Dragons. Several had come to aid the Draugr, one, two, three, four…five.

The five Dragons came down upon the battle and killed as many soldiers as they could find, the men tried to bring them down atop the horses, but their aim was too poor from atop the running horses. More screams came from the men, and the dragons continued to deal death from above, while the Draugr did so from, below.

From the sky the rider flew down upon his dragon, and approached the area where Tullius was. The dragon's claws swooping down, grabbing soldiers; among them went Legate Skulnar, along with his horse. The dragon took them and flew up high, then let them go in the middle of the sky. Sending the Legate to his doom.

"Legate!" Tullius shouted, but there was nothing he could do. The only hope was that they could exact revenge and slay the dragon and its rider in memory of the fallen soldier.

It came to the general's realization that they had barely defeated half of the enemy's forces, while Tullius' own had suffered heavy losses. The battle had gone very ill, worse than Tullius had ever expected. The dragoons had killed more men than the Stormcloaks at the Battle at Windhelm.

Nothing could stop them; the winged beasts continued their devastation. The grass in the fields had caught fire and bursted in flames. One could not walk two feet without risking his armor or clothes catching flame. Tullius' own horse struggled to run without stepping into the fire, while Tullius himself tried to kill the Draugr around him.

Tullius knew the battle was lost, there was no possible way the Legion could defeat this danger. Almost three-fourths of the men had been killed. Tullius needed to leave now or else risk all of their deaths in this battle. It was a clear choice to the General.

"Fall back! Retreat!" The General shouted, and Legate Fasendil echoed him.

"Retreat!" The Legate shouted, "Back! Fall back now!"

The sun had begun to set as the General and their remaining forces tried to cut their way to safety. Some did this successfully, while others were felled by the enemy. Those that still remained on their horses had escaped without grievous injury, while the men whose horse that had died were killed easily.

Tullius and the Legate rode outward, hacking their way out. The Draugr that stood in front of the horses had been ridden down, while others had tried to kill either Tullius or his horse. Luckily none had done this successfully, although Legate Fasendil had suffered a serious injury, and a sword had been plunged into his side, through his armor. The Legate still held on the reins though, and Tullius was proud of the soldier.

But then Tullius felt a thud in his left shoulder, and cried out in pain as an arrow had gone through his armor and into his flesh. The General tried to move his left arm, but when he tried a shock of pain ran through him. He kept riding, until he had successfully left the scene of the battle, leaving the Draugr behind. The enemy chased them down, the dragon still in the air. But Tullius was not free yet, as another arrow had caught him in the back, and Tullius found himself falling from his horse.

His head thudded on the grass below. Tullius' horse kept on running, leaving him behind. The host of Draugr advanced, getting closer and closer. The General tried to crawl away, but the pain was too great for him to handle; and he found himself just lying there, staring into the sky.

He had failed Skyrim, the battle was in vain. He had thrown away thousands of soldiers lives just to be defeated by their undead ancestors. For this, the General felt terrible. He had been sent to quell the Stormcloak threat, this was beyond him. He had been fighting against forces he could never understand.

Tullius was ready to die; he took a look at the sun as it was setting. And then back to the approaching Draugr, not too far away. At least the General would die in battle, as it was always his true calling.

But then, in what Tullius thought his last moments, he heard a noise from the mountains. And he looked to his left, and suddenly joy and happiness filled him.

An army larger than any Tullius had seen in a long time had come from around the mountains. And a great blast from their war horns was let out. Tullius did not know how many there were, but he assumed it had to be at the least around thirty-thousand, not counting the men that he could not see. And when the horns were blown, the Draugr turned their attention from the fleeing Legionnaires to the great army ahead.

And Tullius laid there, saying nothing, doing nothing. Just trying to comprehend what was going on. Then he knew, the letters they had sent the Emperor had worked after all, the empire had answered his plea. Help had come.

**Well, the first chapter of the battle for Whiterun is done! I hope you all enjoyed it, as I enjoyed writing it! **

**And yes, that was indeed Prince Vaeril arriving with his forces; as some of you might have forgotten, the Prince rode out with some of the men at chapter Thirteen, so it took a long time to get to Skyrim. But they arrived just in time!**

**And now…**

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "The common people pray for rain, healthy children, and a summer that never ends. It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones, so long as they are left in peace. They never are." –Jorah Mormont, Lord of Bear Island, King of Friendzone, Trader of slaves, son of Jeor, and Varys' greatest little bird. **


	24. The Prince of Cyrodiil

The Prince of Cyrodiil

Prince Vaeril had arrived just in time to see as Skyrim crumbled.

The battle had gone ill in the distance, and a slight notion of fear grew inside the Prince's mind as he saw the dragons fly overhead; and the remainder of the Legion of Skyrim flee for their lives.

The chill of Skyrim did not affect Vaeril, the battle down below had taken his mind off of everything else. He searched for a sign of General Tullius, but it had proven difficult; mainly due to the fact that Vaeril himself had never met Tullius. His eyes looked left and right, checking the whole battle, but if Tullius was there and alive, then the Prince did not see him.

They had arrived from the southern edge of Skyrim, and when they approached the wreck that was Whiterun, all of the Draugr had turned their gaze to them. _Let them see me, _the Prince thought; _Let them look at me in the eyes when I kill them. _

His sister, Elizabeth, had been killed by Draugr. But Vaeril would not meet a similar end; he would defeat the enemy here at Whiterun, and bring honor to the Empire, and his father.

The Prince had been atop the white horse he had been given at the military camps in Cyrodiil. A spear in hand and a sword in its sheathe. Behind him were the forty-thousand men he had brought with him. Not the full might of the Empire, but it was no ordinary host either. Thousands upon thousands of trained Legionnaires had come to battle the forces of the undead. They would do whatever they could to save Skyrim, and possibly; all of Tamriel.

Vaeril held the reins as his horse rode from side to side along the massive host. "Weapons!" The Prince shouted, and slowly all of the men unsheathed their blades and all manner of other weapons. The Prince himself kept a firm grasp on his spear. He pulled the reins left, turning his horse to face the large battle down below.

"Ready!" Vaeril shouted, Preparing to take the battle to the enemy, he would not be defeated this day. He would bring down as many Draugr as his body would allow him in order to bring honor to his sister's memory.

"Charge!" The Prince shouted the last command, and with a great cry the army bursted forward, their horses going slowly at first, then fiercer, and faster. A sight worthy of song to some, as the Imperial soldiers displayed valor and courage that none would believe in sight of such a danger. The sound of hooves beating on the ground could be heard in the Summerset Isles. The Draugr readied themselves as well, and the dragons flew forward into battle, leaving the survivors of Tullius' force unattended to.

Vaeril held his spear up, "For the Empire!" he shouted, and with a crash, the two forces collided. The Draugr stood no chance against the speed and power of the cavalry. The numbers were too large for the Draugr to handle, but they did not back down, the Draugr had no fear of the Legion; and they battled just as they did to Tullius' forces, holding nothing back.

Vaeril stuck his spear into any Draugr that he happened to pass by. Swift strikes, he dealt. The point of his blade piercing through even the hardest of the Ancient Nordic armor. He did not hesitate to ride down any Draugr that came into his way, thinking of his sister every time he brought down another of the undead creatures.

But the Dragons soared down from above, and spared the soldiers no mercy. Dragonfire burned many men, and the screams were flooded out by the sound of battle. A few of the Dragons decided to land, and used their tails and claws to deal massive blows to any enemy they see.

"Aim for their heads!" The Prince of Cyrodiil shouted, it was a prime opportunity if one of the dragons decided to land; and the soldiers obeyed his command. The men fired from horseback at the dragons, and the one that had been nearest to Vaeril had met his demise when a storm of arrows penetrated its rough scales.

But it had been the red dragon that had been the most deadly, and it had taken Vaeril a while to notice that there was a rider upon it. With a sword of fire, he controlled the Dragon without and reins. And when the dragon flew past Vaeril, he heard the man sound as if he was speaking to the beast in an ancient and forgotten tongue.

Arrows flooded the sky, and suddenly a dragon crashed to the ground, its wings ravaged by the soldier's fire, allowing the men to easily end its misery with the tip of their blades. Vaeril himself had stuck his spear into the Dragon's eye when it had tried to rise.

The dragons were suffering losses in the sky, whereas the Draugr were suffering down below as well. The Legion had showed its true potential as the battle swayed in their favor. Soon the survivors that had not already fled rejoined the battle, hope filling their hearts. Vaeril himself had been confident that victory was near.

Then the red Dragon had swooped down, and dragged its long claws across the ground, knocking aside any in its path. Vaeril had been among those, and he and his horse went flying. The Prince landed on his back, though he had no idea where the horse went. Prince Vaeril suffered no major injuries, though his back did begin to ache due to the fall. He reached down to look for his spear, until he saw it, cracked and broken on the ground.

It was then that he reached to his sword belt, and unsheathed the long, slender Glass sword that had been given to him by his father, as a gift. He could not tell how the battle was faring while not atop his horse, thought it looked as if it was going well from what he _could _see.

He kept his guard up, and worked through his exhaustion to kill any Draugr that tried to stand against him. Occasionally one would land a small cut or two, but nothing major had come to the Prince. He was fast, and used it to his advantage, dodging cuts and slashed made by the undead Nords. Not only that, but he wore the finest armor in all of Tamriel, forged by the Emperor's own blacksmith.

He grew very exhausted, very fast. Eventually his sword strikes lessened in speed, and he could not dodge attacks as much as he did before. While the Draugr showed no sign of becoming tired. The undead Nords attacked just as fiercely and quick as before.

While most of the Legion remained on horseback, Vaeril noticed that other soldiers were indeed fighting on the ground as well. The Prince's only hope was that one of the soldiers did not accidentally run over him. He kept an eye on the battle around him, trying to find some notion who was winning. Vaeril originally assumed that the Legion was on the verge of victory, but it was possible that he was mistaken.

Only Two dragons remained. The one with the rider, and another, smaller one; all though soon enough that Dragon was killed in the air by arrows as well. Its body crashing into the battle, crushing whoever and whatever were below it.

And then it the red dragon came down to the ground, the beast landing right in front of the Prince of Cyrodiil. Vaeril took few steps back, immediately all hope inside of him was lost. As he looked more closely, Vaeril saw the mask on the rider, it was golden, and had two tusk-like objects protruding outwards. To Vaeril's surprise, the Dragon did not attack him, and the rider spoke.

"You were a fool to come here." He said, his voice sounded old and raspy, though threatening at the same time, "It will only lead to your doom."

"Stand aside, creature; before you face your end!" The Prince shouted, and all he got in response was the laugh of the rider. He sheathed his sword.

"Kill him," the rider said to his dragon, "Leave nothing but his bones."

The Dragon obliged, opening its wide mouth, snapping at the Prince, attempting to bite him. But Vaeril had a newfound strength, and he jumped backwards, evading the attack. The Dragon crawled forward, and struck with its claw, sending its wing forward. The Prince was knocked back, but rose before the dragon could make another move.

It did not take long for the dragon to turn and swing its tale at the Prince, but he ducked, escaping with his head still intact. He sprinted forward, while the dragon was still turning to face him, and dealt a quick, but strong attack to the beast's wing. A massive cut went across it, not allowing the dragon to fly.

Vaeril could not believe he was fighting a dragon and had not yet been killed. He had grown up with stories that his mother would tell him, about when the dragons lived in Skyrim and some other parts of Tamriel. And that man would worship them due to their size and strength. And yet the Prince truly believed he could defeat the scaled creature. Perhaps, this would lead to his death; or perhaps not.

The beast roared in pain, shouting at the sky. Vaeril took this opportunity and lunged forward, and plunged his sword straight into the dragon's neck. The blood of dragons spilled forward and covered the Princes face, some even getting into his mouth. It did not taste bitter and disgusting like some would say; it tasted like victory.

The dragon's head fell to the ground, and it did not move since, its dead corpse serving as a trophy for the Prince's victory. But the masked rider rose from atop the dead dragon. His sword still sheathed, he did not advance more than three steps forward. Vaeril backed up slightly; he had to be ready for anything.

"This may be your victory for today, but it is not the end." He said, "You will feel the terror of my return, along with the rest of Tamriel. Enjoy your victory, it will not last long."

And with that, the masked rider disappeared with a flash, and all of the sudden the Draugr that remained fled for their lives. Retreating from the battle as Tullius' soldiers had done not a while ago. Vaeril himself smiled at that moment, he had killed a dragon and defeated the great host at Whiterun.

Some of the men chased down the Draugr that fled, but as for the rest, they all relaxed and shouted, "For the Emperor!" Vaeril himself joined in the cry. He sheathed his Glass sword, joyful for the victory that his men earned.

He had won the Battle for Whiterun, a victory that will be sung about for many ages. But this was not the end, and the Prince of Cyrodiil soon knew that this war was far from over.

**There it is! I hope you guys liked it, because I really enjoyed writing it!**

** Prince Vaeril killed a dragon! Now I know that some of you are probably thinking: "What the hack! Konahrik could have chopped that guy into ten pieces, why did he flee?" well, even Konahrik is mortal (Well, kind of) and with all the Draugr fleeing, he would be the main target for thousands of soldiers. He did the smart thing.**

** Remember to review because I really struggle to fight big all-out war scenes, so tell me what you liked and what you didn't like! And don't worry, I take constructive criticism well!**

** And now:**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Egg, I dreamt I was old!" Maester Aemon, Maester of the Nights watch, secret Targeryan, Egg's brother, and the sanest inbred ASOIAF has ever seen. **


	25. Mychael III

Mychael

The group kept on through the snow, journey in the Pale went slower than any other places in Skyrim. The snow would constantly wear you down and make you tired quickly, and the cold was treacherous. If it was not for the occasional traveler, they probably would not even know where they were going.

The worst part had been Jarl Balgruuf; he was in no fit condition to be wandering the cold wilds of Skyrim. _He is too use to the comfort of Dragonsreach. _Mychael thought, and he knew it was true. He would often be in the back, panting and breathing heavily, one time Irileth had to help him walk. It had been a sight that no Jarl would want to be seen in.

Every night they camped, Mychael noticed that there was smoke that would often rise in the distance. It was a small amount of smoke, perhaps another traveler was abroad, or maybe the two queer folk they had met not that long ago.

Mychael still remembered the two, the man looked dangerous. And the woman, well…she was very beautiful, Mychael had admitted that to himself. But something had been odd about her as well, Mychael could not pin point it out, but the two seemed luck a very weird type of people. They probably came from Falkreath, everyone from there were weird people.

It had been midday when they stopped to rest. Aela the Huntress had been leading them, due to her ability to track through the wilds successfully. Mychael had begun to converse with the Companions more and more as the time went on, he felt very comfortable around them. Specifically Aela, Vilkas, and Athis; they had spoken to each other often during these troubled times.

They stayed for an hour before setting out again, their energy renewed. They couldn't be more than fifteen minutes from Morthal if Mychael remembered correctly. He had been there once, an odd little town, but it served well enough. Mychael only hoped they could get to Solitude soon, to safety.

"Stop!" Aela shouted out, and everyone did as she said, even the Jarl of Whiterun obeyed the Huntress' command.

"What do you see?" Farkas asked.

"There is a camp not far ahead, look!" Aela said, and Farkas made his way forward to the bush that Aela was crouching behind. Mychael watched him look through the plant.

"See?" Aela said, "A camp of Legionnaires; looks like they just got here, too!"

Mychael himself went forward to see it, and he too saw a large camp in the distance. He could see the tents from here; it would only take around five minutes to get there. So the group moved fast, Aela sprinting in the lead, Mychael followed close behind, as did Farkas, and the rest of the group. The snow tried to hold them back, but they ran through the snow, the prospect of a warm fire and other people gave them new energy to pursue the Legion camp.

When they eventually made their way down the hill, the group found themselves approaching a very open Legion military camp. Soldiers ran their errands and did their duties without giving Mychael and the rest a slight glance. The battle-maidens took care of the injured, and the smiths tempered blades and forged new ones.

The farther they went into the camp, the more people began to notice them. And it seemed as if a few recognized the Companions, perhaps a few of the soldiers had signed them up for jobs one time.

It had taken a few minutes of slow walking for the Legate of the camp to emerge from his command tent. He looked burdened in his heavy Imperial armor, he had a small beard, and head was shaven. He approached the group quickly, a smile upon his face.

"My Jarl, it is a good day indeed to hear that you survived the massacre at Whiterun." The Legate said.

"Indeed," Jarl Balgruuf spoke up, "And who might you be, friend?"

"Legate Hrollod, General Tullius charged me with seeing to it that the Pale is protected until he takes Whiterun." The soldier replied, "And I see the Companions are with you as well, it is good to know that the greatest band of warriors in Skyrim still lives. Is there anything I can provide you with?"

"Perhaps," Aela said, "We seek refuge to Solitude."

"Aye, I can give you that." Legate Hrollod said, "Although, we are short on men; I would have to ask that the Legionnaires that are here must stay."

_He is going to make me stay. _Mychael thought, he understood the Legate's reasoning. He needed more men if he was to hold the Pale, but Mychael had gone through enough fighting, he just wanted to get to Solitude and out of this cold.

"You want my men?" Jarl Balgruuf asked.

"I need more men if am to protect the Pale, don't worry, I will put them to good use." Legate Hrollod replied.

Mychael shot a look at Balgruuf, but the Jarl did nothing but sigh. "I understand, you can have the men; but make sure they come back to me when you are done with them."

Mychael, along with the three or so soldiers that had come with them from Whiterun took a few steps forward. "I have some horses for you; they will take you all the way to Solitude. As for the rest of you, come with me."

Mychael looked to the Companions, then to Balgruuf. He had gone with them to seek refuge in Solitude, but now he was being dragged to fight the creatures he was trying to escape from. Mychael saw as Aela gave him a wave goodbye, and Vilkas did the same, until they went to their horses.

Legate Hrollod still stood in front of the soldiers, "So, you folk are from Whiterun? Perhaps you should follow me then."

The Legate led them through the camp, Mychael searched for the Companions, but he could not find them. Mychael accepted the fact that they were probably getting ready to leave without him. He wished he could go to Solitude as well, but that did not seem possible.

"We found some survivors from the massacre at Whiterun Hold; we kept them here until they were ready to leave. Perhaps one of you knows some of these people." Legate Hrollod said as they approached a large tent. Mychael opened the flap.

Inside were four people, survivors from Whiterun. Mychael knew them all. The first one was Nazeem, a Redguard, who although claims he is rich and spends his time with the Jarl al day; is never seen in Dragonsreach and does not even own a house to call his own. He did not look happy to see Mychael.

Second had been Jon Battle-Born, in his iron armor. Mychael had spoken to him a few times and knew that he was a decent fellow. His blade was sheathed, and he did not say anything either.

The third person Mychael did not know, she was a woman clad in steel armor. Her hair was dark brown and long. She had a blade, although it was sheathed. And set down on the floor was a steel shield that Mychael assumed was hers. Mychael though that he had seen her at Dragonsreach a few times, though he was not completely sure.

The fourth survivor was someone that Mychael was finally glad to see. A woman, very pretty by Mychael's standards stood up. She was a Nord, and her skin was light. Her hair was not too long, but it was not short either, its color was brown. And the woman looked at him and said, "Mychael?"

"Ysolda?" Mychael asked, he had known Ysolda for a very long time. They had been friends for a while, and eventually become more than friends as well. Though that did not last long, Mychael had not spoken to her in some time as well.

"I see you two know each other, I will leave you folks to speak, come to me when you are done." Legate Hrollod said, leaving Mychael with the four survivors.

"How did you make it out of Whiterun?" Mychael asked.

"Lydia helped us escape." Ysolda began, "She found a way out through the sewers, and she kept the Draugr inside the city distracted while we escaped. We had though the Draugr had killed her, but she came down not long after that."

"Well done, Lydia." Mychael said, now knowing her name. "Well, it is good to see that there were other survivors, I only hope that there are more out there somewhere."

"As do I," Jon said, "My family may very well be dead…and Olfina to."

"There is still hope." Mychael said, "If you survived, then there is a chance that more did as well. Keep faith."

"Faith? How can I keep faith in anything after my home was destroyed and my family most likely slaughtered!" Jon Battle-Born said as he left the tent in anger.

Nazeem left to, "I have better things to do all day then listen to you folk talk about _your _meaningless lives."

Lydia left as well, so soon enough Mychael and Ysolda were alone in the tent. He did not say anything; his mind was filled with a thousand thoughts. Whether the Companions had left yet, if Mychael would have to fight the Draugr, and why Ysolda kept on staring at him.

She walked forward slowly, and gave him a soft hug. "I'm glad you're alive." She said, releasing him very slowly. Mychael responded, "So am I."

"It Looks like I will never get to but the bannered mare from Hulda." Ysolda jested, and Mychael laughed softly.

"Well, you can always open up your own inn someday." Mychael said, "Perhaps in the future, if they rebuild Whiterun; you can open an inn there."

"Maybe, _if _they rebuild it, assuming that the Draugr are defeated." Ysolda said, "I can't think of anyone who could possibly defeat them. General Tullius doesn't have the men."  
"Perhaps the Dragonborn could defeat them." Mychael said.

"Valor?" Ysolda asked, "I haven't seen him since he sold me some of the Sleeping Tree sap a few years ago."

"But perhaps someone could find him." Mychael said, though he did not believe it himself, nobody knew where the Dragonborn had gone. Perhaps he had been killed, or worse.

"I don't think so." Ysolda said, "Unless we-"

Ysolda had been cut off from the sound of screams. Mychael quickly walked outside, and Ysolda followed. He couldn't identify the problem at first, until he saw the arrows soaring through the air. A few landed not that far from Mychael. He took a few steps back as one was about to land right in his chest.

He saw Nazeem run back to the tent not long after, shouting, "The camp is under attack, run! Run-"

He was silenced by an arrow that came upon his head, sending him to the ground below. Ysolda let out a short scream, and Mychael unsheathed his blade as quickly as his body would allow him. _How did the soldiers not see this coming?_ He thought.

The soldiers at the camp scurried to gather their weapons and fight back, but many were brought down by the flurry of arrows that came from the woods. Mychael could not tell what direction they were coming from. He did not waste any time, he grabbed Ysolda's hand firmly and dragged her along as he ran. He saw Lydia not that far off, and shouted her name as he approached her. "How do we get out of here?"

"We have to leave quickly, find a horse and get out of here!" Lydia said, "Find Jon as well!"

Mychael didn't have time to find the Battle-Born, but he would do what he must. "Stay here with Lydia!" Mychael told Ysolda as he ran forward in order to find Jon. He shouted, "Kill them all!" the soldiers listened, though most of them did not get close enough to the trees to pose a threat to the Draugr. Arrows continued to storm the skies and rain down upon the Legionnaires. And still Mychael searched for Jon.

_Probably ran to the Bard's College for all I know. _Mychael thought, dodging the occasional arrows that would come nearby. _If I don't find him soon, I am a dead man. _

The soldiers that remained attempted to flee, some did this successfully, while others felt the pain of the ancient Nordic arrows. It was then that Mychael found Jon fleeing the battle; Mychael grabbed his arm and shouted, "Follow me!" Jon did this without question.

Jon followed close behind Mychael as he tried to find his way back to Lydia and Ysolda. It was hard to see where anybody was with all the soldiers fleeing for their lives. Mychael checked every so often to see if Jon was still behind him, which he always was.

Soon enough he came upon Lydia and Ysolda. Lydia stood near a horse and Ysolda just stood there staring at the animal. When Mychael approached with Jon, Lydia sighed with relief, "Good, now we can get out of here!"

"Mychael, Ysolda, get on this horse now!" Lydia shouted, and Mychael did as he was bod. But Ysolda did not, standing there in hesitation. "Come on!" Mychael shouted, holding his hand out, but for an unknown reason she did not move for a few moments. It took a lot of shouting from Mychael and Lydia to get her on the horse.

"We will go find another horse," Lydia said, "You two go, head to Dawnstar; it's only half an hour from here. Jon and I will meet you there!"

Mychael was about to bod Lydia and Jon farewell, but skipped that part when an arrow almost hit his head. He took the reins and rode away from the scene, Ysolda holding on from behind. He looked back only a few times to see the disaster that had happened to the military camp.

_Tullius needs to send more men. _Mychael thought, if he did not, then the Pale would be lost. It would only be a matter of time before the Draugr made their way to Dawnstar, but Mychael would get there first. He _had_ to get to there first, to warn them.

**There it is folks! I really hope you guys liked it!**

**So just to let you know, I marry Ysolda in every Skyrim character I make since Serana wont marry me…So I had to put her in this story because she is too awesome to not be in it!**

**Also, this chapter takes place simultaneously with the Battle for Whiterun. So yes, Legate Hrollod's embarrassing defeat at the Pale and the battle at Whiterun take place at the same time! **

**And now:**

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "Her own ****_father _****got this child on her? We are well rid of her, then. I will not suffer such abominations here. This is not King's Landing." –Stannis Baratheon, The rightful king of Westeros, last of the Baratheon brothers, the future slayer of Roose Bolton, Father of Shireen, AND Rhllor's champion. **

**Ps: I am really bad at Romance, so even the little snippet in this chapter between Mychael and Ysolda was very difficult, so bare with me!**


	26. Eleriand V

**Disclaimer: I take no credit for the words within "The book of the Dragonborn." That work and all others in Skyrim belong to Bethesda.**

Eleriand

The College of Winterhold was just the same as the last time he had seen it, a long time ago. The school practically floated above the rough seas below. And although many claim that Winterhold was ravaged by a natural disaster, there were no ruins of the old buildings that showed evidence of this. All though the College was a prime example, the ice below it was thin enough to crack right then and there, taking the College down with it.

They had gone up the bridge, and found themselves before a High Elf woman. She was tall, even for her kind; and her hair had been an odd white. Her robes looked as if they were enchanted, with the mysterious glow that most mage robes possessed. She stopped Eleriand from continuing, saying, "Halt!"

"The gate will not open, you shall not gain entry!" She said.

"What? I just came to visit the library." Eleriand said, and the elf's face then went from the stern, angry look, to a calm one.

"Oh! Please forgive me, it's just that more and more people have been vandalizing the College recently, apparently they blame us for the happenings at Whiterun."

"May we pass?" Serana asked.

"Perhaps, if you pass a small test." The woman said, "Not just anyone is allowed into the College, you must possess some inherent magical ability. If you can cast a spell, I will allow you to proceed."

"Easy enough." Serana said, and suddenly she casted a lightning bolt spell into the air. A crack, like a whip came with it, and Eleriand flinched at the flash. "Excellent! And you…" the elf said.

_I know one spell. _Eleriand thought, he had learned the simplest of all spells, the flames spell. Being a High Elf, it was expected by most that Eleriand would be

a master at magic, all though Eleriand had always felt more comfortable with a blade.

Eleriand used all that he knew about the arcane arts and summoned flames to come from his hands. He struggled to control it, at first, and soon stopped casting the spell.

"Good, very good. To get to the library you will want to go to the Hall of the Elements, it's the one with the two large doors. Turn left when you get inside and you should be there. And make sure you don't damage any of the books, or Urag will have you ripped to pieces with Flame Atronachs." The woman said, smiling.

"Thank you." Serana said, and soon rushed up the bridge. Eleriand followed slowly, leaving the High Elf woman and going up to the College.

"Watch where you step, it's a long fall." Serana told him, and Eleriand kept an eye on the bridge below. He began to grow paranoid, fearing he would fall off the bridge and into the sea below. On the other hand, Serana ran towards the gate, with no care of falling. Eleriand wished he was as care free.

When he had finally caught up with Serana and made his way to the bridge, he was already panting. The girl ran much faster than he did, and he had to make sure she did not leave him behind.

They had pushed open the large stone doors slowly; they were fairly hard to push, so the two of them did it at the same time, each using as much strength as they had left from the journey. They finally opened the doors, revealing a hall leading to a large open room. A few mages practiced spells at the walls, while others studied tomes and such on the desks. Eleriand located the door to the Arcanaeum and opened that one as well, Serana followed.

They had climbed the stairs of the room to find a group of mages gathered at the front desk of the library. One of them, a Wood elf was talking amongst them.

"She said she saw a fire coming from a snowy wilderness. And in the trees she saw s dead man walking, and he threw a torch into the forest."

"What could that mean?" The Orc, who must have been Urag, asked.

"When she said that, it got me thinking: What if the Draugr attacked the North, that would explain the snow, and then the torch in the forest could mean the burning of one of the towns." The elf replied.

"What town could this be…here in Winterhold?" Urag asked.

"No…I don't think so, the Draugr are nowhere near here, perhaps Dawnstar."

"In that case, you should send a message to the court wizard at Dawnstar immediately!" Urag said.

"You are right, I will do that at once." The wood elf said, and withdrew from the conversation. Books in his hands, he passed Eleriand and Serana quickly, obviously in a rush.

Eleriand approached the desk in which the Orc mage sat at. He was upon a small wooden chair that made him seem shorter than he really was. The Orc was just as ugly and monstrous as other Orcs were. Though this one seemed more civilized than the other Eleriand had met.

"Now you listen here, hundreds of years have gone into assembling this collection, it's going to stay pristine, if I find one speck of dirt on those pages, I will make sure my Flame Atronachs rip you into as many pieces as the book you ruined has pages. Understand?"

Eleriand was about to say something rather vulgar when Serana spoke for him. "We understand." Eleriand shot her a look, but she replied with a smirk.

"Now, what is it I you two need?" Urag said, in a nicer tone.

"We were wondering if you have a copy of 'The Book of the Dragonborn.'"

"Ah, as a matter of fact I do, only one left actually." The Orc scrambled around his desk, rummaging through all the papers and old books that were on the desk. "Here you go."

He handed Serana the book, everything on the cover was black except for the symbol of the Imperial Legion. A dragon, fit for the cover of a book about the Dragonborn.

"Thank you so much." Serana said, "We will bring it back soon."

"You better." The Orc replied, and Serana and Eleriand found a table.

Serana opened the book eagerly. "He put an emphasis on starting at page one…" Serana said, beginning to read at the first page. Eleriand just watched, waiting for her to say something.

She read the first page, but her face was blank the entire time, eventually she handed the book to Eleriand, "Read it and tell me if you notice anything."

Eleriand read the old book; he flipped to the first page and read the small words that were written:

"_Many people have heard the term "Dragonborn" - we are of course ruled by the "Dragonborn Emperors" - but the real meaning of the term is not commonly understood. For those of us in the Order of Talos, this is a subject near and dear to our hearts, and in this book I will illuminate the history and significance of those known as Dragonborn down through the ages_."

Eleriand studied the words carefully, if Valor had strictly said to start from page one, then perhaps there was something on this page that could give them a hint of his whereabouts. He continued to think deeply on the words, trying to find some secret meaning behind them. But nothing came to him, and he just found himself staring at the page without any clue of its meaning.

"Well?" Serana asked, but Eleriand only sighed. He had no answer for the girl at this moment; perhaps if he concentrated more than he could give her an answer.

"Nothing just yet, let me think." Eleriand replied. He did not want to say anything to provoke Serana to speak. She talked enough on the journey here, and Eleriand was starting to get tired of hearing her voice.

He studied each and every word he thought was of importance. At first he thought of 'The Dragonborn rulers.' Perhaps pointing to something along the lines of the Septims. But it was the words about the Order of Talos that had caught his eye.

"Do you know anything about the Order of Talos?" Eleriand asked Serana.

She shook her head, "Never heard of them."

Eleriand sighed, and threw that thought out of the window, until Serana then said something else.

"But one time, when Valor and I went to Windhelm, I met one of his friends named Lortheim. He was a Priest of Talos."

That had got him thinking. Perhaps the Order of Talos was what Valor had wanted them to see. But Eleriand had never heard of the order of Talos. Is sounded as if he should know what it is, but he could not pin point what they were.

Eleriand got up from his chair and approached the Orc mage. "Have you ever heard of the Order of Talos?" He asked.

"What? Oh yeah, they were an Order back in the day, but they were disbanded many years ago. Been talk that the Priests of Talos in Skyrim secretly lead a surviving branch of the order; thought. That answers your question?"

"Indeed." Eleriand said, leaving the Orc to his books and scrolls. He didn't like Urag; he seemed like the type of person that Eleriand would knock his two front teeth out. Serana waited for him at the table, and Eleriand grabbed the Book of the Dragonborn.

"This Lortheim fellow, who is he?" Eleriand asked.

"A Priest of Talos, he takes care of the shrine along with his wife. He is a nice man, why?" Serana asked.

"We might need to find him." Eleriand replied, sitting on the chair before the table.

"Why? What did the book say?"

"I think Valor may have wanted us to see the part about the Order of Talos, and if he had a friend that was a worshiper of Talos; then perhaps he may know where he went." Eleriand said.

"Not bad," Serana smiled, "So, are we headed to Windhelm then?"

"That seems likely," Eleriand said, "Assuming this Lortheim fellow is still in Windhelm, then we should seek him out."

Serana rose from her chair quickly. Eleriand did the same, the old book still in his grasp. Eleriand turned around and went back to the Orc, and put the book on the desk. "Thank you for your assistance." Eleriand said hesitantly, he really didn't like the Orc.

He quickly walked away from the Orc, heading towards the door that would bring them out of the library. Serana was in the lead, walking in a rush, going much faster than Eleriand. _She is eager to find Valor. _He thought.

They went down the small array of stairs. Serana opened the door and went back into the Hall of the Elements. Eleriand did the same, and the two quickly opened the large wooden doors. Both pushing it open.

"To Windhelm, then." Serana said, "It would be nice to see the city of Ysgramor again."

"Aye." Eleriand said, as the two made their way out of the College, and down the bridge. And began their journey to find Lortheim.

**Alright then, not much really happened here. But originally the Eleriand/Serana plot should have been much farther along than it is right now, so had to get this done with quick. That's pretty much why they got to Winterhold so quick.**

** Remember to review, because it makes me feel good about myself, and it tells me what you liked and what you didn't like. So review now!**

** And Now…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." Prince Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, Prince of Dorne, brother of Elia, Bane of Ser Gregor Clegane, Champion of Tyrion, and the greatest Dornishman in Westeros.**


	27. Rikke

Rikke

"What did you say, soldier?" Rikke asked.

"A new host has been spotted in Eastmarch, twenty-thousand strong." The soldier replied.

It had been midday when Legate Rikke had received the news from the young soldier. A new host had been spotted in Eastmarch. According to the soldier, they had just received info that it was headed directly for Windhelm.

"Does Jarl Brunwulf know about this?" Rikke asked.

"Indeed, he is preparing the cities defenses."

When Rikke had returned to Solitude, she had hoped that nothing major would come about that would require her attention. But now it seemed that this would not be the case. If the information the scouts had reported was true, then Rikke feared for Skyrim's survival. Tullius lacked the men to defeat the host at Whiterun, _and_ the new one at Eastmarch.

"You did good soldier, how about you go speak to Aldis and get some rest; you have earned it." She told him.

"Aye, I will." The soldier said as he walked out of Castle Dour, leaving Rikke alone to herself.

Now that the General was not here, there were not many that Rikke spoke to. Her duties were confined to Castle Dour. Occasionally she would be summoned to the Blue Palace, where High Queen Elisif or Falk Firebeard would have need of her council. But most of their needs did not concern warfare, often Elesif needed help on how to rule her people, being as inexperienced as she was. Though sometimes, Elisif would request the status of the war, in which the Legate provided real help.

Rikke wished she could have gone to Whiterun with the General and the rest of the Legates, but Tullius had given her a job to do. She had to stay and protect the citizens of Solitude until they returned. Many possible dangers could strike at any moment. Perhaps the Stormcloaks survivors would try to take Solitude, or maybe the Draugr would find a way to the capital of Skyrim. Rikke had to stay vigilant, and do her duty.

The information that had been given to the Legate earlier had greatly disturbed her. If a new host had somehow, out of nowhere appeared in Eastmarch, then the threat had finally spread to all of Skyrim. At first, it had been contained to Whiterun and the Reach, but now the Draugr could attack both Windhelm and Riften. It was a depressing thought.

"Legate!" Rikke heard a voice come from the entrance. And the same soldier came back into Castle Dour. He looked tired from running, and he began to breathe heavily as he approached her.

"Speak, soldier!" Rikke said.

"I told High Queen Elisif of the news, and she has requested your presence at once."

"Alright then, now go and get some rest." Rikke said, "Deliver no more messages."

The soldier jogged back out of Castle Dour, and Rikke saw as the door opened that he actually went to speak to Captain Aldis this time. Rikke followed slowly behind, wondering what Elisif wanted to tell her. There was nothing that Rikke could do at the moment to solve this problem in the first place.

She passed the training yard and briefly saw the messenger talking to Captain Aldis. She passed by quickly, if Elisif wished to see Rikke than she must have something important to say. For Rikke had already spoken to her this morning.

She went down the stone road inside the city. Quickly making her way passed the Bard's College. Perhaps the only place of song and happiness left in Skyrim during these troubling times. Rikke could hear the Bards singing tales of Valor and Honor even inside Castle Dour.

The heavy armor of the Imperial Legion soon began to burden her, so she quickened her pace. It was times like these that she wished she had requested Light Armor from the blacksmith when she had first joined up with the Legion. Soon she finally found herself coming upon the Blue Palace.

She had never like visiting the place, it was a dangerous building. Full of heavy politics and danger. The Thanes were constantly at war with another, backstabbing each other and trying to lower their position. The saddest part was that High Queen Elisif was amongst it all, and she was even worse at it than perhaps even Rikke. From what Falk Firebeard had told the Legate, Elisif was not meant for the Royal Court, and that her crowning was just a formality, that he truly ruled at Solitude. Rikke herself had never truly believed Elisif a capable leader, but she preferred her over Ulfric any day.

She opened the door to the palace. Inside she was faced with the greatest architecture that Skyrim's smiths and masons had to offer. The beauty of the Blue Palace was not questioned, though the true intentions of its residents were. Everywhere she turned she saw two or so people conversing quietly with another. Attempting to be secretive.

She climbed up the small set of stairs that led to the small court of the palace. A place where Queen Elisif and her steward would deal with the problems of the common folk, taking care of their needs and such. Rikke finally made her way up all of the stairs; seated before her not very far away had been High Queen Elisif the Fair. Whose beauty was famed across Skyrim. Falk Firebeard was next to her, along with her court wizard, Sybille Stentor. Rikke had always felt uncomfortable around Stentor, something about her made the Legate feel awkward.

Rikke knelt on one knee before Elisif, "My Queen, what is it you need?" She said.

"Rise." Elisif commanded respectfully, And Legate Rikke did so. "I have received word from one of your soldiers that more of the Draugr have been sighted in Eastmarch, do you know of this?"

"Indeed, my lay." Rikke replied, "Word has indeed reached my ear, they are headed to Windhelm if the scouts are correct."

"Is there something that we could do to stop this? Perhaps send a message to General Tullius?" Elisif said.

"The General is in Whiterun, my lady. Probably waging battle against the Draugr at Whiterun as we speak, if he gets the message, it will be weeks before he will be able to do anything. Not only that, but we are uncertain if he will defeat the host at Whiterun."

"Then what do we do?" Elisif asked, "I cannot, and will not allow Windhelm to go without aid."

"My lady," Rikke said, "We lack the men to assist Windhelm in any way, our only hope Is that there are enough city guards and any other able bodied men to defend the city. All of Windhelm's Legionnaires were sent to Tullius."

And that had been the truth of it. Windhelm had very little men to defend it; they had sent all of the Legionnaires that had been stationed there to Tullius. If Windhelm was attacked, there would be very little men to defend the city.

"So there is nothing we can do?" Elisif asked.

"I know what you can do." Came a voice hidden in the shadows, and out came Thane Erikur, one of the most influential men in Skyrim. Rikke had never been fond of him, he seemed as if one who would hold their honor cheaply, someone who would abandon his morals if it could better his position.

"Perhaps our _Queen _should ride out and meet them head on." Erikur said, "What good is a Queen if she cannot defend her own people? It would be an inspiring sight for the troops, High Queen Elisif in her plate armor, fighting in the memory of her dead husband."

"That's enough, Erikur." Falk Firebeard said, "Perhaps you can try another trick to get the Queen killed, because this one will not work."

"I was simply doing what is best for Skyrim and her people." Erikur said in a sarcastic voice, "The High Queen's duty is to protect her people when danger strikes; but what has Elisif done? Hide while she left General Tullius to do all the dirty work."

"That's _enough_." Elisif said, "Erikur, leave us." She said.

"Of course, my lady." Erikur bowed, and slowly walked away from the royal court.

It was for things like this that Rikke did not trust Erikur. He seemed like the type that would promise you your world's desires for your service, and then stab you in the back when it suited him.

"Legate Rikke, I think we should-!" Elisif began, but was interrupted by the opening of the door into the Blue Palace. The soldier that had given Rikke the news of the host at Eastmarch was back _again_. But he was followed by many warriors that Rikke could not identify.

Then she saw a familiar face come to the court, it was Jarl Balgruuf the Great. With him was his houscarl along with a few guards. All though Rikke did not know who the others were, the appearance of Jarl Balgruuf felt like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. Rikke and the General had been hoping that somehow the Jarl survived for some time, now their hopes were confirmed.

"My Queen." Jarl Balgruuf said as he knelt before Elisif. "I have come from the burned wreckage of Whiterun to seek shelter and protection."

Elisif looked astonished, "It is a great day to hear of your survival, please; the Blue Palace is open for you to stay as long as you like. But how did you escape?"

"It was the Companions of Jorrvaskr that lead me to the safety of Solitude. I have now witnessed the Honor and Courage that they are known for first hand." Balgruuf said.

"Companions," Elisif said, and the group stepped forward, "In honor of your bravery in leading Jarl Balgruuf to Solitude, I will grant you anything you ask of me."

One of them stepped forward, a woman in the armor of the ancient nords, "All we ask is for steady feed and a place to stay until the war is over."

Elisif spoke up, "That I can grant you, you may stay here in the Blue Palace with Jarl Balgruuf for as long as you need."

"Thank you." The woman said.

"If you would, Jarl Balgruuf; It would be helpful to all if you spoke with Legate Rikke of what you have gone through." Elesif said, pointing to the Legate, "I am sure you can provide useful information that can help for the war effort."

"Indeed, come here; my Jarl." Rikke said, and Jarl Balgruuf the Great slowly made his way to Rikke. The Legate noticed that his clothes were dirty, and that he looked very tired; probably from the long journey he endured.

"As Elesif pointed out, I assume you may have some valuable information for me?"

"I…not really no, I'm not sure what information I can provide. I wasn't present in the battle. I can tell you that these are no Stormcloaks we are dealing with, this is a very serious enemy that will be difficult to stop." Balgruuf said.

"Is there any information you have that could help us beat the Draugr?" Rikke asked.

"No." Balgruuf flat out said, "All though I do know this; If something does not change, I fear for the safety of Skyrim. If the Imperial Legion fails, then nobody can stop them."

**Alright guys! Not really much happened here, but seriously had NO idea what to write about for the other POV characters, so I just thought 'Hey! Why not show what's going on with Rikke in Solitude!" I was planning for her to become a POV character anyways, so now is a good time to start it guess.**

** SO review and tell me what you thought! Did you think this was amazing? Or did you think that it was a waste of my time writing and you hated it so much and want me to stop making new POV's and just wanted them to find the freaking Dragonborn and get this over with already? Please tell me, and don't worry; I take Constructive criticism well!**

** And now…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "They'll kill for that Knighthood, but don't ever think they'll die for it." Bronn the Sellsword, hireling of Tyrion, The un-killable, target of Cersie, bane of Ser Vardis, and son of 'You wouldn't know him.' **


	28. Mychael IV

Mychael

Dawnstar was not far, it took only two days to reach the city on horseback. Occasionally Mychael would look behind him to see if Lydia and Jon were nearby, but he could never find them. Mychael only hoped they had survived the attack at the camp. Mychael would need all the help he could get in speaking to the jarl.

It did not take long for Mychael and Ysolda to find themselves upon the large town. Mychael imagined it would be larger than it was, but that did not matter. A Khajit caravan passed them as they rode inside the town, obviously leaving. He looked at them suspiciously; many tales had reached his ear of grand heists committed by Khajit thieves in Skyrim.

Mychael soon came down from atop the horse, as did Ysolda.

"Take this horse to the stables, give them this." Mychael told her, handing her a few gold coins. "That should be enough for the stables and to get two rooms at the inn if the Jarl doesn't listen. I will be back soon."

"See you then." Ysolda said, and Mychael quickly made his way towards the Jarl's longhouse. A few guards patrolled the 'streets.' As some would call them, there were no true streets in Dawnstar; only snow.

He looked behind a few times to check if Ysolda had taken the horse to the stables. When Mychael had first arrived here, he could not find the stables and had been searching for at least half an hour. Mychael looked forward once again, to the approaching longhouse of the Jarl of Dawnstar, commonly known as the White Hall.

It did not take long for Mychael to find himself opening the door to the Longhouse, finally getting out of the cold. It was common belief that Nords were immune to the cold, but this was not the case. Mychael himself hated the cold and preferred warm areas, but there were no spots like that in Skyrim.

Soon he found himself inside the wooden building. The warmth of a hearth hit him, and the cold was finally leaving him. He searched for the Jarl, and found her sitting in her Throne. All though it was more like a chair, there was nothing powerful about it, and it did not signify power or dominance like the Thrones of the other Jarls.

The Jarl saw him enter, and then her housecarl came to the throne; along with the captain of the guard. When Mychael approached, the Jarl kept a stern eye on him. Her hair was grey, like the Grey-manes of Whiterun. She looked like a strong Nord, not surprising from a member of the Legion. A blade was at her side.

"My Jarl, I bring dark tidings." Mychael told her.

"Who are you, soldier?" She asked.

"Mychael, my lady. I come from the Legion camp stationed in the pale."

"I am Brina Merilis, Jarl of Dawnstar. Now tell me, what word do you bring from Legate Hrollod?"

"The camp was destroyed," Mychael began, "We were attacked by surprise. The Draugr hid in the trees and slaughtered nearly everyone. They will be here in a few days."

The Jarl's face immediately looked grim, as did her housecarl and captain of the guards. Mychael could not blame them; these were grim days to live in Skyrim. This was a threat that nobody knew how to stop.

"So Hrollod has failed," Jarl Brina began, "Then what would you suggest then, soldier?"

"We evacuate the city, get the women and children out and head to somewhere safe."

"A good plan if we were anywhere but in Skyrim." Brina began, "We could leave, but the cold would defeat us. Assuming the Draugr don't kill us all first."

"Dawnstar cannot be defended, you have to get everyone out or else you all will die. There are not enough men to fight, and even if there were, Dawnstar has no proper defense." Mychael said.

"Aye," Brina's housecarl, Horik Halfhand said, "The boy is right, we should leave at once."

It was clear to Mychael that now that Horik had taken his side that the Jarl was now considering it. There was no other way, and Mychael knew it. They would have to find some way out before the enemy arrived. Or else they would all be killed.

"You may be right again, Horik; and you too, soldier." Brina said, "Legate!" she shouted, and a man rushed out from one of the rooms shortly after. Clad in all imperial heavy armor, he was a strong man; there was a war axe at his side. And he answered the jarl's call.

"Yes, my Jarl?"

"Constantius, tell the guards to withdraw everyone from their homes, we have to leave Dawnstar."

"Yes, my lady." The Legate said, and he quickly withdrew from the White Hall, several guards following. Mychael turned to face the Jarl, who then rose from her chair. She put a hand on the hilt of her blade as she got up.

"Where do you suppose we go, soldier?" Brina asked, "Morthal is too close, and is likely a target by the Draugr as well. Should we go to Solitude?"

"No, it would be dangerous; we might encounter more Draugr on the way there." Mychael said, "We are safest by getting as far away from the western part of Skyrim as possible. We could head to Winterhold, and then make our way to Windhelm. It seems the safest place right now."

"Indeed, Windhelm was built to be the most defendable city in Skyrim. And the only refuge we have left." Brina said, "That settles it then, we will head for Winterhold as soon as possible. Horik, tell the guards to scour the homes for all the supplies we could use. I do not intent to have my people starve in the cold."

And with that the Jarl took a few paces from her throne, "Well soldier, you have done Dawnstar a great service, go and get a drink before we leave, you earned it."

And with that Mychael took his leave, glad to finally be done with the conversation. Mychael could not help but think that he had saved all of these people, but they were not safe just yet. They still had to outrun the Draugr. Mychael only hoped that they could get to safety in time.

When he was back in the cold of Dawnstar, he saw the guards approach every citizen in the town. Talking to those on the streets, and going into their homes. Mychael also saw as some of the towns folk desperately went to their houses to get whatever supplies they could carry. They would have to move quickly if they were to outrun the enemy.

It was then that Mychael looked to the stables and saw Ysolda speaking with two other people. Mychael quickly made his way towards them, wondering who they were. But as he got closer his heart was filled with relief, knowing that the two were Lydia and Jon Battle-Born. They did not seem to bear any injuries, though they looked tired from riding. Mychael could not blame them.

"Mychael!" Ysolda said when he got closer, "Look, its Lydia and Jon, they made it!"

The two saw him, but they did not look terribly excited to see him. Lydia approached with a stern look on her face. Jon stayed back, looking depressed.

"What did the Jarl say?"

"We have to leave soon," Mychael said, "The Jarl is preparing to evacuate the town."

"Where does she plan to go?" Ysolda asked.

"Away. We will pass Winterhold and head to Windhelm. Hopefully Jarl Brunwulf will help us when we get there."

"How long is that, three weeks journey?" Lydia said, "And in this weather? It will take even longer to get there."

"We have no choice; it's either this or fight the Draugr, which I am in no mood to do at the moment." Mychael began, "We leave soon, and it would be smart for you to join us."

"We will join you when the time comes. Until then we will be at the inn." Lydia said, and Jon followed her as they passed Ysolda and Mychael heading towards the inn.

Ysolda came up to Mychael soon after that. Mychael searched for the horse they had come to Dawnstar with, and soon enough he found it in the stables along with several other horses as well.

"Do you know when we leave?" Ysolda asked.

"When the guards gather all of the supplies and the citizens gather their valuables." Mychael said, "It's a long journey, and the food in the town will not be enough to feed everyone for several weeks."

"Indeed, what will we do until then?" Ysolda asked.

"I am going to see if the inn will allow me to get a drink, would you like to join me?"

"I see no reason not to." Ysolda smiled, and the two of them made their way to the inn. Perhaps Lydia and Jon were getting a drink as well, assuming that the innkeeper was still in business for the few hours they had left before they would flee the town.

They had made their way in to find Lydia and Jon at the bar, drinking Black-Briar mead. Mychael himself had always preferred the taste of Honningbrew mead, but that was probably because he had never tasted Back-Briar mead.

Mychael and Ysolda approached the bar and sat in the stools right next to Lydia and Jon Battle-Born. Inside, Mychael was glad that Nazeem was not here, he was a petty noble who deserved what he got. All though Mychael never understood why he didn't have a home if he was so rich.

When the bard began singing "The Dragonborn comes." Jon soon had a smile upon his face. From the few times Mychael had spoken to him, Jon had always wanted to become a bard. "The life of song is the life for me." He told Mychael once.

"Innkeeper!" Mychael shouted out. And the man who he presumed owned the inn halted their current responsibilities. Mychael could tell he was scavenging for anything he could carry that would be a necessity. But Mychael was thirsty, "How about a bottle of mead?" Mychael asked.

The innkeeper smiled, "One last bottle before the journey, eh?" he said, "Aye, I can get you one, on the house as well." And the innkeeper found on of the leftover bottles and gave it to Mychael. Who took it gladly, drinking the whole thing almost instantly; he needed something to get his mind off what was going on.

He stayed there for another hour, waiting for the time to leave. It would be a long journey to Windhelm, and only the Gods would know what they would encounter along the way.

**Not much action, but something important did happen here! **

** I would just like to say that if anyone was made upset by my remarks about Daenerys and the Targeryans then I am truly sorry, I did not mean to mock the Mother of Dragons. As restitution for my actions, I give you this!**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki Sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen." –Illyrio Mopatis, the Cheesemonger, Magister of Pentos, Friend of Tyrion, Friend of Griff, Friend of 'Aegon', and the truest supporter of the Blackfyre family. **


	29. Dain IV

Dain

The whole camp had gathered to welcome the survivors of the Battle for Whiterun. Dain himself had been among them, coming with the rest of the people that were left behind to stay in the camp. He could see the host in the distance, and by the amount of men that were arriving, Dain assumed that the battle had been won in favor of the Imperial Legion. Most of the men were horsed, though a few walked on the ground, their horse possibly injured or killed.

Dain had spent his time searching for General Tullius atop one of the horses. But it seemed as if he could not find him, Dain kept on looking. He would not accept the possibility that the General had fallen in battle. He kept on looking; perhaps he was in the back? Dain did not know.

Leading the host had been a young man, his hair was black and long, and his skin was light. He was atop a brown horse, and a glass sword had been at his side. He looked as if he was of some importance, but Dain did not recognize him from afar.

They rode on till they came to the camp, and at that moment thousands of soldiers got of their horses. The man who had been leading them approached the crowd. It was then that Dain got a closer look at him; he was younger than he had initially thought. He looked not even in his early twenties yet. His armor must have been forged by a master, because it was unlike anything Dain had seen come from the Skyforge. On the chest plate was the engraving of the symbol of the Imperial Legion, a dragon.

"Who is in command here?" he asked.

"General Tullius put me in command until he returned from the battle." Dain had called out, and the rider had turned his attention to him.

"You must join us then." He said, "Legate! Come, we have matters to discuss."

And then Legate Fasendil came soon after, Dain could see that his side was covered in cloth. The man and the Legate made their way to the command tent, while everyone else greeted the survivors. Dain followed soon after, lagging behind slightly. But it was not long before he joined the two others in the tent, wondering what it is they were to discuss about.

"What is your name, soldier?" the young man asked.

"Legate Dain," Dain answered, "And who are you?"

"Vaeril, son of Titus Mede II, The Prince of Cyrodiil."

"Truly?" Dain said, he began to get on his knees in order to show respect, but the Prince simply shook his head.

"Please don't," he said, "I prefer to be treated as any normal man, not a Prince."

"Aye," Dain said, "So what is it we have to discuss? Where is the General?"

It was then that Legate Fasendil spoke up, "The battle was almost over, and we were retreating. But out of nowhere the Prince came with forty-thousand men and we defeated the Draugr. Whiterun was taken, but at a dangerous cost."

"What cost?" Dain asked.

"The General did survive. We found him after the battle was over, he had five arrows in his chest." Prince Vaeril said.

Dain could not believe what he had just been told. The General killed? It was a possibility that Dain had rejected until this very moment. He could not fathom Skyrim losing such a great tactician and leader, one who secured Elisif's claim to the Throne. What would they do now? Was this boy enough to stop the Draugr threat?

"I understand if you are saddened by the death of the General." Prince Vaeril said, "But we have matters to discuss. This was a good victory, but we have more to win before this war is over."

"Aye, your right." Dain said, "So what's the plan?"

"Well," Vaeril began, "I do not know much else of this Draugr threat, perhaps you two could enlighten me on what has happened before I arrived?"

"Certainly," Legate Fasendil said, "First Whiterun was taken, then the Reach, and as of right now there is a smaller host in the Pale."

The Prince of Cyrodiil looked very, very confused, "I don't know if you know this, Legate; but I have no idea about anything you said. Could you perhaps enlighten me on where the Reach and the Pale could possibly be?"

"The Reach is the western part of Skyrim, produced the provinces largest amount of silver. It was built by the Dwemer, and was taken by the Draugr not a month ago. The Pale is in the north, covered in snow. Its capital is a small town known as Dawnstar, certainly not our largest priority at the moment, but it is still of great importance." Dain said.

"Ah, thank you my friend." Vaeril said, "So how many Draugr are we dealing with here?"

"Well, there are ten-thousand stationed in the Reach, and ten-thousand more in the Pale." Legate Fasendil said.

And then Dain remembered something that he had almost forgotten to do. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter, the seal still unbroken. The courier had arrived the night before, it was meant for General Tullius, but it belonged to the Prince now.

"Here, I was supposed to give this to the General. But now it seems that this belongs to you." Dain handed the Prince the letter.

Prince Vaeril of Cyrodiil broke the seal on the letter and began to read. Dain could tell from his face that the contents of the message were nothing to share a tankard of mead about. The Prince lightly threw the letter onto the map of Skyrim, as if on purpose. And the letter landed on Eastmarch.

"A host of twenty-thousand Draugr was spotted in Eastmarch headed towards Windhelm." He said, "Can one of you point out Eastmarch to me on the map?"

"It's where the letter landed." Dain flat out said.

The Prince grabbed the letter once again, and studied the area in which it landed. Dain knew that the terrain of Skyrim must have been very different to Cyrodiil. Or perhaps at least southern and central Cyrodiil. Dain had heard that North near the border, Cyrodiil was a lot like the cold, mountainous terrain of Skyrim.

"And could one of you point out where we are currently?" Thee Prince asked.

Dain did so, as he pointed with his finger to the plains of Whiterun. The Prince of Cyrodiil studied that location as well. Inside Dain wondered if it was wise to allow this boy to command the forces of the Imperial Legion, to have experienced commanders and soldiers follow this young highborn lad when there were plenty that were most likely more capable, and that knew the land of Skyrim well. Legate Rikke perhaps, or Dain himself, even Legate Fasendil would be a good choice.

"Skyrim is large and mountainous," Vaeril pointed out, "This would be a long ride, perhaps four to five weeks at the least, by the time we arrive, Winterhelm…or whatever it's called will be destroyed."

"Not likely, my lord." Dain said, "Windhelm is highly defendable, it should last for a time."

"That is not likely," Legate Fasendil said, "We took all of the Legionnaires stationed there for the war. All that's left to Windhelm is the town guard and any able bodied men they can scrounge up."

Dain had not expected that part. If what Legate Fasendil said was true, then Windhelm would most likely meet a darker fate than Dain had hoped. It mattered not how defensible the city was if there were not proper soldiers to defend it.

"In that case we better make haste towards Whitehelm soon." Prince Vaeril said.

"Windhelm, sir." Dain said.

"Oh…right." The Prince said, "We will ride tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow? Shouldn't we ride as soon as possible?" Legate Fasendil said, "And what about the forces at The Reach and the Pale?"

"Yes, _tomorrow_. We don't want the men to go without rest, give them the night to recover from the battle; then we ride." Vaeril said, "As for The Reach, we should send a separate host to settle that problem. The Pale can wait, since it is of less importance."

"Who will lead the second host?" Dain asked.

"I see no reason why you cannot do it." The Prince said, "You are a Legate after all, they don't give that rank to just anybody."

"I completely agree, I have full confidence that Legate Dain could retake the Reach. His men have the utmost confidence in him, and the General did as well." Fasendil said.

"That's settled then, we will split our forces; Legate Dain will take twenty-thousand men and retake the Reach. And I will head to Windhelm with the rest of the soldiers to lift the attack at Windhelm."

And with that Dain found himself leaving the tent, Legate Fasendil close behind him. Prince Vaeril stayed in the command tent, choosing to spend his time studying the map of Skyrim.

_Twenty-thousand men…that's a lot of lives to take responsibility for, _Dain thought. He had never been in charge of more than five-thousand men during the civil war. And that was when they had to defend Fort Snowhawk from an attack by the Stormcloaks.

"Well, better get some rest, Legate." Fasendil said, "You have a long journey to Markarth ahead of you."

**Well there it is! I truly hoped you liked it.**

**SO, General Tullius is dead…: (**

**I would like to thank everyone that has reviewed my story so far! 41 reviews? I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD GET SO MANY! It makes me really happy on the inside that people are actually reading this and some are actually enjoying it, so thank you! **

**This quote is a tribute for all the people who reviewed my story…**

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "The dead are likely dull fellows, full of tedious complaints – 'the ground's too cold, my gravestone should be larger, why does he get more worms than I do...'" –Dolorous Edd, a man of the night's watch, Jon's steward, nominee for Lord Commander, and the greatest character in A song of ice and fire.**


	30. Eleriand VI

Eleriand

Windhelm was unlike any city in Skyrim Eleriand had seen. The stone craftsmanship was remarkable, and far surpassed any of the ancient tombs and crypts of the Nords. All though, Eleriand should have expected as much from the city of Ysgramor.

They had arrived the day before, and had rented two rooms for twenty gold. Serana made sure to get some rest, but Eleriand did not sleep that night, instead he preferred to hear the talk from the innkeeper of the goings on around the province. Some of what he had heard disturbed him.

"Been talk of dangerous things in the west, Draugr and worse. If I were you, I would stay as far away from Whiterun as possible."

Eleriand tried to ignore it, but he could not help but remember the man that had been in the Nordic tomb not too long ago. Eleriand remembered that it had troubled Serana as well; he could not blame her, the Draugr were dangerous and fearsome creatures.

He had stayed up all night, and when the morning came he felt no more tired than he did before. Not soon after Serana came from her room and the two paid the innkeeper and went on their way to find this priest of Talos.

It had been hard to find the shrine. Eleriand asked around but most of the citizens did not want to speak with him, due to his race being a High Elf. The Dark elves were nice enough, but they too had no idea of the location of the temple due to the fact that they themselves had no love for the Nordic God of war.

It was then that Eleriand found himself face to face with one of the local Nords whose name was Rolff Stone-Fist. Eleriand had politely asked him if he could direct him to the shrine of Talos, but the man spit in Eleriand's fac.

"Filthy elf, why don't you roll in the mud with those grey-skins and lizards."

"Listen, I just wanted to know where the shrine is." Eleriand said.

"I will die before I let one of your kind anywhere near the shrine of Talos. No dirty yellow-face is going to desecrate my God's temple." Rolff said before attempting to punch Eleriand across the face.

Eleriand quickly took a few steps backwards in order to evade the blow. He would not be victim to the bullying behavior of the Nords of Windhelm. Eleriand quickly responded with a kick to the man's crotch. Rolff groaned in pain, and Eleriand took this time to grab the man's face and shove it against his knee. That shut him up.

"Eleriand!" Serana had said when she saw him, "Can't you get along with anyone? Put him down, now!"

Eleriand reluctantly did as she bid, and released his grasp on the man's shirt. Rolff Stone-Fist fell on the stone floor of Windhelm, yelling out in pain as his back thudded against the ground.

"Don't call me yellow-face again." Eleriand said, "Now tell me, where is the shrine of Talos?"

Rolff Stone-Fist tried to rise, but his body would not allow him. Eleriand smirked, looking down at the defeated Nord. Eleriand knew it must have been torturing the man that an elf had done this to him.

"To the left of the Palace of Kings." Rolff said in pain.

"Thank you." Eleriand said, walking away from the scene to an angry Serana. Eleriand paid her no mind; she did not understand what it was like for someone to hate her just because of what he looked like.

"Are you crazy?" She said, "You are lucky there are no guards in this area or else they would be hauling you to the prison cells!"

"Quiet girl, if the man had insulted you, I am sure you would have done the same thing." Eleriand said.

"No I wouldn't." Serana said, "You should try to ignore them."

"Easy for you to say, nobody calls you yellow-face. Leave me to my business, and I will leave you to yours. Now if you excuse me, we have a priest to find."

Serana kept quiet soon after that. And the two began to head to the palace of kings. It was not hard to find by any means, the place was big enough for even a foreigner to identify where it was. They climbed up the small amount of stone steps to find a door overshadowed by the splendor of the palace of kings. Eleriand opened the door, with Serana following close behind.

Inside the building was a shrine of Talos. A few worshipers admired the stone carving of the hero-god of mankind. Eleriand had always known him as Tiber Septim, founder of the first empire. All though Eleriand did share the view with most Altmer that Talos was not a god, he did not believe that worship of him should be outlawed. The people had the right to worship anyone they please.

Inside there had been two priests of Talos, one being a woman, and the other a man; who Eleriand assumed was Lortheim. Serana herself rushed forward, eager to speak to the man. Eleriand slowly followed, keeping an eye on the people around him. He would not risk one of the local Nords sneaking up on him while he was in a conversation with the priest.

"Lortheim!" Serana said, and the Priest turned his attention to the two people approaching him.

"Yes, can I help you two?"

"It's me, Serana!" She said, "I came to talk to you."

"Serana…_Serana_…Oh yes! I remember, you came here with Valor, that was a long time ago…what do you need?"

"We were wondering if we could speak to you privately." Serana said.

It took a moment for Lortheim to understand, "Of course, of course…follow me, we can speak in another room."

The priest led Eleriand and Serana past the stone statue of Talos and to another room. Eleriand thought at first that it was some sort of storage place from the looks of it. There were piles of meaningless items and such.

"What is it you need?" Lortheim asked, looking very nervous around Eleriand, most likely due to him being an Altmer.

"What do you know about the Order of Talos?" Eleriand asked.

It was as if fear filled the priest's eyes, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Calm down," Serana said, "He is not with the Thalmor. Now answer his question."

Lortheim looked relieved, Eleriand could not blame him. The Thalmor struck fear in all the citizens of Skyrim. As much as the Nords like to deny it, they know they would have little chance against them.

"I know they are an order unknown by most, only the Priests of Talos know of their existence. I am a member myself, why?"

"We need to find them." Serana said.

"What business do you have with the Order of Talos? They are not a friendly lot, especially if they see this one coming for them." Lortheim said, pointing to Eleriand.

Eleriand ignored that, "our business is none of your concern, just know we need to speak with your leaders."

"Our leader was killed at Whiterun, his name was Heimskr. A new leader has yet to be selected." Lortheim said, "But forget that, I think it would be wise to let me know what you are planning, wouldn't want to take you to the order without knowing your intentions."

"We need to find Valor." Serana said.

"Truly? And you thought the order of Talos has what you seek? It is true that the Dragonborn has associated with our group. But what makes you think that the Order will have him or answers to his location?"

"Look," Serana said, "We need to speak with the order, can you help us or not?"

"Well," Lortheim began, "It happens to be your lucky day, it just so happens that a meeting between the order will be taking place in a few days. I believe it has something to do with the Draugr threat."

"Can you tell us where it is?" Eleriand asked.

"No," Lortheim said, "But I can take you there."

**Well, it's not much but I did enjoy writing this chapter so I hope you did as well!**

** Alright guys, I have serious question to ask you guys that I would like for you to answer. Who is/was your favorite POV character? I have wondered this for some time as wish to see your answers, perhaps the one with the most votes will get a few more chapters than intended…**

**And Now…**

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "Justice. I remember justice. It had a pleasant taste. Justice was what we were about when Beric led us, or so we told ourselves. We were king's men, knights, and heroes... but some knights are dark and full of terrors, my lady. War makes monsters of us all." -Thoros of Myr, a priest of Rhllor, wielder of a burning sword, a King's man, and a better priest than Melisandre could ever be. **


	31. Gweryan II

Gweryan

"Alright now, Arianna; did you see anything in your dreams last night?"

So far the girl's dreams had been silent, which gave Gweryan few things to do. Ever since she saw what seemed to be the burning of Dawnstar, her visions were blank and she saw nothing. Which left Gweryan not much to do other than wander the College, reading books and speaking to the occasional scholar that passed by. He hoped that today would be different.

It was early in the morning when Gweryan and Arianna had their daily appointment. Her mother was also in the home, all though she was in the other room. Gweryan preferred for the girl not to be distracted by others, he wanted her to concentrate on remembering her dreams, not on others.

"Did you see anything? Anything at all?" Gweryan asked her, he hoped she did. Or else it would be another boring day at the College.

"I…" the girl hesitated, as if to remember the exact details. Gweryan paid close attention, not wanting to miss any possible details.

"I saw…nothing at first…and then, I saw an eye."

"An eye?" Gweryan asked, "One eye...did it blink? What did it look like?"

"It blinked, but very slowly. And it looked as if it was staring straight at me." Arianna said, "And then I saw a mass of tentacles, and they wrapped around anything they could find."

"Tentacles, hmm." Gweryan said to himself. He knew of one particular thing that might prefer to appear as a mass of tentacles.

"Anything else?"

"And then, everything went black again…until another visions came…A dragon, pale as the snow with the head of a man…it was wrapped in the tentacles."

"Would this dragon perhaps be the same one you saw before?" Gweryan asked.

"Yes." Arianna replied.

"Is that it? Did you see anything other than that?"

"I…the last thing I saw was the dragon wrapped in the tentacles…except…in the end, before I woke this morning…the dragon…the tentacles were wrapped around it so much that the dragon was killed."

"Interesting…" Gweryan said, tentacles were the common form used by the Daedric Prince of knowledge and fate, Hermaeus Mora. There were many books on the Daedric Princes in the college library, and Gweryan had always found them fascinating.

"Is that all?" Gweryan asked.

"Yes." The girl replied.

"Alright then, I will see you tomorrow. Have a nice day." Gweryan told her as he left the room. Heading towards the door that leads outside.

The cold of Winterhold had no longer affected Gweryan, he even found himself to prefer it to the hot climate of some of the other provinces. He enjoyed it far more than the climate of Cyrodiil, although when the snow got knee deep, the elf found himself longing for the Arcane University again.

It was not long before Gweryan was walking up the bridge leading towards the College. Faralda was not on duty, instead teaching the apprentices basic destruction spells. Instead Tolfdir stood, and greeted Gweryan as he passed him.

"Greetings, Gweryan." Tolfdir said, "I hope your work with Arianna went well?"

"Indeed," Gweryan replied, "And is your study into the lost alteration spells going well?"

"Very," Tolfdir replied, "I say I have almost discovered the secret of the dragonflesh spell, and will perhaps be able to apply it to weapons and armor."

"I wish you the best of luck on your research." Gweryan said, and to that he bid Tolfdir farewell. Gweryan had always admired Tolfdir, he was an honest man; and the school he taught was not one easy to master. Alteration was a difficult kind of magic to understand, but very useful to its caster.

He came upon the gate leading towards the College of Winterhold. It opened almost magically, allowing Gweryan to pass inside unhindered. Phinis Gestor passed by, and Gweryan gave him a nod. He had always been suspicious of Phinis, word around had been that he possibly dabbled in Necromancy, something that Gweryan did not have any respect for.

Gweryan pushed the large wooden doors open, revealing the Hall of the Elements. Inside, Faralda was teaching four new apprentices. Gweryan took a few seconds to watch.

"The key to destruction is to summon all of your energy into your palms." She began, "Start with flame spells, they are the simplest to learn and require only minimal ability of the arcane arts."

The apprentices began to practice the flames spell. Most of them failed except for one, a dark elf girl. The flames merged from her hands almost effortlessly, and all the other students stared in jealousy.

"Keep practicing, when you master the flame spell then come to me." Faralda said, and Gweryan noticed that she was walking towards him.

"Good class?" Gweryan asked.

"Good enough, they could use some practice; but give me a week and they will be casting firebolt spells in no time." The Altmer replied.

Gweryan had always liked Faralda. She had been easy enough to converse with, and her knowledge of the Arcane was extraordinary, even for an elf.

"I believe you." Gweryan laughed.

"Are you returning from your meeting with Arianna?"

"Indeed."

"Arch-Mage Savos was looking for you, wanted me to tell you to meet him when you returned."

"Thank you, I will make sure to see him." Gweryan said, leaving Faralda to return to her class.

He turned to his left, and pushed open the doors that would lead to the Arch-Mage's chambers. Gweryan groaned when he saw the stone steps. If there was one thing he hated about the College, it was the many steps; he was forced to climb to get anywhere.

When he had climbed up the stone staircase, he found himself approaching the room of the Arch-Mage. He quickly made his way forward, not wanting to keep Savos waiting. He was an important person, and important people tended to get angry when they did not get their way.

Savos saw Gweryan enter, "Please, sit my friend."

Savos was a Dark elf; not surprising, Dunmer were said to be born with an inherent talent for the arcane. Many of the greatest battlemage's in Tamriel were Dark elves. He was clad in the Arch-Mage's robes, enchanted clothes that granted the user almost no fatigue when overcasting spells.

Gweryan sat in the chair near the table in which Savos sat at as well.

"Alright Gweryan, what did the girl say?" Savos asked.

"What she saw was obvious in some aspects…but not in others." Gweryan began, "She said that at first she saw one eye staring at her."

"An eye? What does that mean?"

"You tell me," Gweryan said, "An eye can mean anything….no only that, but she said she saw a mass of tentacles."

"Sounds obvious to me," Savos began, "Hermaeus Mora."

"Aye, I thought the same thing." Gweryan began, "But it was the last thing she said that confused me."

"What was it?" Savos asked.

"She said she saw a dragon with the head of a man, pale as snow. It was wrapped inside the tentacles, eventually the tentacles were so constricting that they killed the dragon."

Savos looked as confused as Gweryan when he had originally heard it. The elf could not blame him, dreams were a curious thing, they were hard to understand. And even harder to interpret.

"A dragon with the head of a man…I don't know what that could mean." Savos Aren began, "And the tentacles killed the dragon…very ponderous indeed."

"I should read up on some old tomes, perhaps." Gweryan said, "Maybe there is some information of Hermaeus Mora I can find."

"You should, whatever this means, it does not sound good." Savos said, "Head over to the Arcanaeum and find some information on this Daedric Prince. Perhaps you will find something that could help solve this mystery."

And with that Gweryan rose, leaving the Arch-Mage to himself. Gweryan did not know the meaning of these dreams, and neither did Savos. He had little faith that Urag would know what they meant either. Gweryan would have to read as much as he could about the Daedric Prince of knowledge and fate, or else risk something bad to possibly happen.

**Well there it is, I felt like it was time to finally make another Gweryan chapter. I felt like I was doing him some injustice by leaving him out of everything.**

** So the question still stands as before, tell me who your favorite POV character is, and maybe he will live to see the end of the story…or maybe not…we will see!**

** And now…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister." -Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. 'Son' of Ned Stark, A true Targeryan, and the last Dragon. **


	32. The Guardian

The Guardian

After all the preparations that the guard had made to ensure the cities safety, Windhelm seemed to have a bleak future.

Men and women from Kynesgrove had fled to Windhelm earlier that day. And Terryn had been among them. He left the small settlement earlier that day with his wife, Alice, and his son, Rian. They would not be victim to the Draugr, at least not just yet.

When his family found themselves inside the city of Ysgramor, Terryn had been taken along with the other able bodied men; and given weapons and armor. Terryn had taken a steel war axe; it was the closest to the one he used back when he was a Stormcloak. Terryn had served in the rebellion; he viewed Ulfric Stormcloak as a hero, the one who could free Skyrim from its bondage under the Empire. But those days were gone, the Dragonborn had struck down Skyrim's last hope himself, ever since then Terryn had returned to his wife and son at Kynesgrove. But it seemed now he would find himself one again under the banner of Windhelm.

This night Terryn was along the structures surrounding the bridge leading to the city. The structures had been built with the sole purpose of protecting the bridge against enemy invaders. Although it seemed this day that the structures would provide little help to the militia men guarding it. They had no Legionnaires with them to help in the fight, only the town guard and any men and children strong enough to lift a sword. They were Windhelm's last hope.

Next to him were several men, all citizens of Windhelm; Terryn could tell that much. The town guard had been there as well, although they were few in numbers as well. Terryn had little faith that they could hold the city; Windhelm's defense was only one-hundred men, against the forces of the Draugr.

"Let's hope we live to see the morrow." One Nord said next to Terryn.

"Indeed," Terryn answered, looking at the Nord to see a massive bruise across his face.

"What happened to you, my friend?" Terryn asked.  
"Bloody High elf kneed me in the face, pointy eared bastard." The Nord said, "He left the city before I could pay him back. Yellow-face was lucky, would have been five to one if I had got my friends to help me. Maybe we would have taken the woman he was with as well, just to spite him."

Terryn tried to ignore the man as he went on, complaining about the fight and cursing the Altmer race. These were one of the reasons why Terryn had always felt uncomfortable in Windhelm. The Nords were a hateful lot around here, and evading trouble was almost impossible. If Terryn had been anything but a Nord, then they would not be speaking.

"Hey, you see that?" The man said, pointing forward.

Terryn looked to where the man pointed, and saw Draugr coming from over the hills. At first it was difficult to see how many due to the darkness of night time. But Terryn soon knew that they far outnumbered the one-hundred defenders of the city of Ysgramor.

The captain of the guard, Captain Carac stood not far from Terryn. He was the closest thing to a Legionnaire that Windhelm had. He had retired after the Civil war, from what the guards told Terryn. And he was a great leader. _He better be,_ Terryn thought, _we will need all motivation we can get._

"That's a lot of Draugr." Terryn said aloud, all though it had intended to be just a thought. The Nord next to him agreed.

"Aye, and they'll fight fierce…Nords always do."

"Let's hope we fight fiercer." Terryn replied.

Captain Carac called out a command, "Ready bows!" Terryn did as he was told. He kept an eye on Captain Carac; the man was built for battle. His arms were large, even for a Nord; and his chest and the rest of his upper body were big as well. Terryn on the other hand was a different case; he was not muscular by any means. He was light skinned whereas the captain was tan. Terryn's hair was blonde, but the captain's was black.

"Notch!" Captain Carac called out.

Terryn reached for the quiver on his back and took a single iron arrow, putting it to string. Drawing it back and holding it steady, he would not be the one to accidentally let loose his arrow and look like an idiot.

The Draugr marched forward slowly, in a more orderly fashion than Terryn felt comfortable with. He had never encountered a Draugr, but he had heard that they were just as fierce in death as they were in life.

"Hold arrows!" Captain Carac shouted, and Terryn kept a firm grip on the arrow. He was ready to fire at any time; he did not fear the Draugr, much to his own amazement. He had been scared to death when it was time to attack Whiterun during the civil war. But now it was as if a new inner strength had come to him, making him ready for anything.

The Draugr came closer still, marching slowly. Terryn could see the blue light in their eyes, and it disturbed him. The closer he looked at them the more disturbed he was. The undead Nords looked fearsome, and Terryn saw no fear in their eyes.

Then the Draugr stopped marching, instead sprinting forward as fast as their undead bones would allow them. "Loose!" Captain Carac roared, and from the bridge the one-hundred protectors of Windhelm let loose their arrows. In the darkness Terryn found it difficult to track his own as it flew through the sky, joining the flurry of other arrows. The first few rows of Draugr fell down, finally joining death; but more came to take their place.

"Fire at will!" Captain Carac shouted, allowing the archers to let loose as many arrows as they please. Terryn tried to fire as many as possible. He pulled the string back, firing more and more arrows. The guards and militia did the same, and for a short amount of time it seemed as if they could hold the bridge if they kept this up.

But the Draugr had archers of their own, and soon arrows were being exchanged between the two forces, both taking losses. Terryn found himself ducking down several times to escape an incoming arrow, rising again to answer back with _his_ arrows.

While the men at the bridge were so concerned with the enemy's archers, the other Draugr that rushed forward penetrated Windhelm's defenses. Going up the stairs to meet the militia head on atop the stone structures. Those that did not respond in time were cut down easily, while the other soldiers abandoned fighting the enemy archers in order to unsheathe their swords. Meeting the Draugr with the clash of swords, many falling in defeat.

Terryn himself had taken his war axe and cut down any Draugr he saw. He may have not been an official soldier, but he knew how to fight. He had cleaved innumerous Imperials, these Draugr were no different, except they looked older.

Captain Carac had not been far, and Terryn saw him cut down many of his undead brothers. Bitter strength allowing him to bring down any enemy that stood in his way. Terryn did not fare as well, suffering several cuts. None were too deep, but they burned slightly and altered his speed and strength. This did not affect the power of his axe though, and he brought down the same number of Draugr as before; it even slightly reminded Terryn of his days as a Stormcloak.

Terryn also saw as the Nord who had been defeated by an Altmer in a fight, be pierced by several arrows. Four arrows fell from the sky to land straight on him, one even piercing through his skull. Terryn felt bad for the Nord, motivating him to fight harder in the man's memory.

More and More Draugr stormed the bridge, heading upward into the stone structures, serving as reinforcements to the first wave of the undead that had come. Some even served as archers from behind, picking off as many of the guard and citizens as possible. The militia suffered even more losses than before, and Terryn suspected that only around fifty men still survived from the one-hundred that were here in the start of the fight.

Still more Draugr came, and it was as if there was an endless sea approaching the outskirts of Windhelm. Terryn could see no end to the vast force, more and more kept on coming until soon the bridge was beginning to become flooded with undead.

Captain Carac would not allow needless deaths just yet, "To the gate! To the city!" he shouted, leading the fifty or so men that survived to the gate; cutting down any that stood in their way. More militia men fell still, but no severe casualties were felt, and the majority of the survivors stood strong, repelling any that approached them as they retreated to the gate of Windhelm.

Terryn and the men soon came up to the gate leading to Ysgramor's city. A few men stayed back to hold the approaching enemy forces back with arrows; while the rest of the men, Terryn included, rushed back inside the city. Soon everyone was inside, and some of the men went to keep the gate closed in case the Draugr decided to use a battering ram.

Terryn sat down in exhaustion, and Captain Carac did the same, not far from each other. The Captain looked exhausted, even more than Terryn was himself. They both were panting.

"What's your name, soldier?" the Captain asked.

"I'm no soldier, sir." Terryn said, "Names Terryn."

"You're as much of a soldier tonight as anyone else, you fought like a soldier, and most likely; you'll die like one too."

Terryn agreed, there was no possible way to defeat the Draugr; their numbers far outweighed the fifty guards and militia men that were Windhelm's only hope.

"You live in Windhelm?" Captain Carac asked.

"No, I came from Kynesgrove." Terry replied.

"You fought well, we all did; but it will not save us this time." The Captain said, "Go to the palace of Kings and tell Jarl Brunwulf of what happened here."

Terryn was about to reply, but before he could speak a force rammed against the gate. It was clear that the Draugr were trying to bring down the gate in order to storm the city. "Go!" Captain Carac said, and Terryn sprinted to the Palace of Kings in order to warn the Jarl of Windhelm.

When he came upon the Palace of Kings, he pushed the door open. No guards stood watch outside, so there was nobody to ask why he was visiting the Jarl. Terryn rushed inside the palace.

Inside were many guards, around thirty or so that had obviously stayed behind by the Jarl's orders. The women and children were there as well, Terryn searched for his wife and son, but was too distracted by his duty to speak with the Jarl to concentrate.

He approached Jarl Brunwulf Free-Winter, who sat upon Ysgramor's throne. He was an old warrior and provided council to everyone in Windhelm from what Terryn heard. The people loved him so much that they saw him as a worthy replacement for Ulfric Stormcloak after he was slain by the Dragonborn of legend in these very halls.

"Why have you come, friend?" the Jarl asked, "Did the Captain send you? How fares the battle?"

"We were forced to abandon the bridge." Said Terryn, "The Draugr are, if they haven't already; trying to bring down the gate."

The Jarl's face looked grim; he turned to his steward, Jorlief, and said nothing. He looked back at Terryn, seriousness striking him.

"I don't know who you are, soldier." Brunwulf said, "But you-!"

A ramming came to the doors leading to the palace. Both of the large doors were being rammed into. Terryn assumed that Captain Carac and the rest of the men at the gate had been slain, and that the Draugr were outside, trying to get in so they could slaughter the people inside the Palace of Kings.

"I'll be dead before I allow Ysgramor's throne to be taken." Jarl Brunwulf said, readying his steel mace.

The guards inside had all readied their arrows, holding them steady and ready to fire at any Draugr that would pass through those doors. Terryn had joined in; readying the last arrow he had in his quiver. Drawing the string back, and holding it firmly.

The ramming continued, and the doors moved back slightly. Until eventually the door was brought down with a great force. And in stormed the Draugr in all their malice and strength. The guards released their arrows, Terryn among them; and many of the Draugr that rushed in had fallen. But still more charged in, and eventually after a storm of arrows, the Draugr had advanced to swords reach. Steel met steel as the remaining town guard and Terryn tried to repel the Draugr invaders. At first they had done so successfully, but soon the masses of the undead overpowered them, and their numbers dwindled slowly. Jarl Brunwulf joined into the battle soon after that, his mace crushing the old bones of many undead Nords. But the jarl was old, and he was not the same soldier he once was; soon enough he grew tired, and Terryn saw as he was struck down with a blow to the head with an axe.

The women and children were killed as well, Terryn tried to find his wife and his son; and at first he could not find them. Until Terryn finally found them, his wife saw him and tried to run forward, but she was struck down with a blow from a greatsword. Terryn's son cowered in fear and tried to escape, but the same Draugr swung downwards and cut a great gash into his chest, ending it when the Draugr bore his sword down upon the child.

Terryn leaped forward in his anger, he would bring down this beast that had murdered his wife and son, everything that he had left. He took his axe and swung it right at the Draugr's head, sending its lifeless body to the ground. He reveled in his victory, until he felt a deep pain in his back, and fell forward. Knowing that something had just stabbed him from behind. He laid there in pain, thinking his last thoughts, until he breathed his last breath, and another sword was plunged through his head.

**Well! There it is! I hope you guys liked it, because I really enjoyed writing it.**

** And Now…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Edd, fetch me a block." –Jon Snow, the dude from the last quote.**


	33. The Lord's Daughter

The Lord's daughter

Lortheim had led Serana and Eleriand to the mountains just outside of Windhelm. When they looked back a few times, Serana could see smoke rising from Windhelm.

Serana and Eleriand had joined Lortheim and Jora; Lortheim's wife. She tried not to ask too many questions in order to not be a burden, but she still felt awkward around the two. They did not speak often with her, in matter of fact they did not speak with each other as well. Serana had tried to speak with Eleriand to pass the time during the journey, but he did not want to speak and just wanted to be left alone. So for most of the journey Serana was left with only her thoughts.

_I hope these guys know where Valor is._ Serana had thought to herself while they moved through the cold wilderness, _or at least have something that could help us find him. _

But after all this time the hope inside of her had dwindled. Valor had been gone for three years without anyone knowing where he had gone; if these people did not know where he was then she did not know who did. And what was she to do if they never found him, return to the castle? She had no love for the people in Castle Volkihar, and now that her father and mother were gone or would not return, there was no reason to go back.

"We are almost there." Lortheim said, and Serana grew even more uneasy. She wished they would just sprint to wherever they were headed to get there quicker, but Lortheim and Jora seemed to be taking their time. Even Eleriand seemed in no rush.

Soon Windhelm was out of sight, and they were in the mountains. Occasionally Serana found it harder to breathe as they went farther up. The cold blizzard beat on them and Serana eventually began to shiver. But she kept on, she was a Nord of Skyrim, her people were supposed to be resilient to the cold.

They had been on the side of a mountain when Lortheim approached what seemed like a large rock. "Elf," he said to Eleriand, "Help me move this." And Eleriand made his way to Lortheim, and the two summoned their strength to push the very large rock out of the way. Soon enough a cave was revealed, inside it was pitch black.

"The rock was used so no strangers came wondering in." Lortheim began, "The other members of the order should already be here."

"How many of you are there?" Eleriand asked.

"Not counting myself and my wife, there are seven; six now that our former master, Heimskr; was slain at Whiterun." Lortheim began, "Also, before we go in; you should not say anything elf, the order is not very fond of your kind for reasons I am sure you know of."

"I will keep quiet unless I have something very important to say." Eleriand responded.

"Alright then, follow me." Lortheim said, leading them into the cave.

When they went deeper inside, Serana soon realized how dark the cave truly was. Eventually she could not see her own hands, nor could she see Lortheim or Eleriand. She could barely see Jora, and that was because she was lagging behind and still at the entrance. She took careful steps, not wanting to fall or step on something that could cause her to.

"You don't perhaps have a torch or something?" Serana asked.

"Nonsense, you don't need a torch." Jora said, "Your almost there anyways."

"Oh, also." Lortheim began, "I suggest you two stay out of sight until the time is right, wouldn't want the order to withhold any information that might be useful to you."

They kept on through the darkness, and eventually the linear cave lead to a massive open area. Although the majority was still dark, Serana noticed many shadowy figures standing around something that looked like perhaps a magelight spell. Serana and the rest soon went closer, approaching the mysterious figures. Eventually Eleriand grabbed her arm to hold her back, "Stay here," he said, "Listen carefully."

The two watched and paid close attention as Lortheim and his wife approached the others. _Let's see what they know. _Serana though to herself, it was now time to found out if this journey was for nothing or if it was worthwhile.

"Greetings, brothers." Lortheim said, "Is everyone here?"

"Indeed," one of the men said, "We are all here, everyone except our dear master Heimskr."

"May we grieve in his memory." Jora said.

Then Serana saw as one of the men walked closer to the magelight, illuminating his face. He was a Nord, although his skin was darker than most, and his beard was short and thin, almost stubble. He looked like an elderly man, due to his hair being gray like older people.

"Brothers, we have all convened to discuss this new threat to Skyrim." The man said, "Draugr are running across this land, killing as they please with nobody to stop them. Something must be done."

"What can we do?" one man said, "We don't have any soldiers in order to do something."

"We must do something," The Nord said, "Something to stop these Draugr in their tracks, something to bring hope to Skyrim again."

_Say it,_ Serana thought, _Say you know where he is._

"We must contact the Dragonborn."

The group immediately started speaking amongst each other. Many obviously doubted they could accomplish this. Serana did not blame them, the Dragonborn has been missing for years, and it seems as if the Order does not know his whereabouts either.

"The Dragonborn has been missing for years." Lortheim said, "We cannot put all our hope in him."

"I see no reason why we should put our faith in one who abandoned his own people!" one of the men said, still in the shadows, "We don't even know where he has gone!"

Then the elderly man spoke up, his voice thundering through the empty cave, "Silence!"

But Lortheim spoke up, "Forgive us for doubting, but he has not been seen for years, how can we find him?"

"You folk may not know of his whereabouts," the elderly one said, "But I think I do."

"Have you been keeping secrets from us, old man?" one of the voices roared out in anger.

"It is no secret that the Dragonborn had many contacts within the order, myself included." The old man said, "Before he disappeared, he gave me a book."

"A book?" Jora asked, "What significance would a book have to us? Did the Dragonborn write it himself?"

"He did not write it, it was written _for_ him. By a Daedric Prince himself!"

Serana now grew confused, she turned to Eleriand; but he seemed just as confused as she was. Unless these people were talking about the Book of the Dragonborn, then Serana knew of no book that was written about him nor one that would help them find him.

"What kind of book do you speak of?" Lortheim asked.

"You may have not heard the legends, but I have!" the man said, "It is a book written from the hand of Hermaeus Mora himself! By his very hand!"

"How would you come into possession of such an item?" Jora asked, "Have you been hiding things from us?"

"It was hidden among you who are lower in rank of the order, only I and Heimskr knew of this book that the Dragonborn entrusted to me."

"Then tell us," Lortheim began, "How will this book help us find the Dragonborn?"

"It is simple; the book transports the reader to Apocrypha! Hermaeus Mora's Oblivion realm, where I believe the Dragonborn is currently residing."

Now Serana knew, she had heard of these Black Books of the Daedric Prince of knowledge and fate, they were said to drive the ordinary person mad. But from her knowledge, they could only be read if in Solstheim, an island not far from the coast of Skyrim; perhaps this Black Book was different however.

"If we read this book, it will take us straight to the domain of Herma-Mora himself. _That_, my brothers, is where I believe the Dragonborn has gone."

"This is interesting information," Lortheim said, "But what would cause the Dragonborn to stay in this place for so long?"

The elderly man shrugged, "It is said that once you visit this place, your hunger for more knowledge is never sated. Perhaps he stayed there in his own free will, maybe he was forced by Hermaeus Mora, maybe he died in there, one will never know unless we find out ourselves ourselves."

"This is preposterous! I will not believe that the Dragonborn would serve a Daedra, he was a worshiper of Talos!" one voice called out.

"The Dragonborn held his loyalty to many, I am sure that he perhaps served both." The elderly man said, "It does not matter, if Skyrim is to be saved, then the Dragonborn must be found. Now, who will read this book, and journey to the land of the Daedra?"

None said a word; Serana looked around for someone that would raise their hand. But she did not see any, and after that moment she noticed that Eleriand had made his way forward, into the reach of the Magelight. Everyone except Lortheim and Jora gasped in disbelief that a High Elf had been among them. Serana rushed forward as well, standing directly next to Eleriand.

"We will read your book." Eleriand said.

"Intruder! Nobody has intruded on the meetings of the Order of Talos for years! Kill them now!" the elderly man said, but Lortheim spoke up.

"No, I brought them here, they seek the Dragonborn just like we do…Perhaps they can be useful, they may read the Black Book and find the Dragonborn instead of one of us."

"Hmmm…" the old one said, "Perhaps you may be right…You two! Come with me, either you will die on Oblivion, or you will return with the Dragonborn. Either way you serve us well."

Serana hesitated to move forward, but Eleriand did not, fearing no man. She followed soon after. Everyone's eyes were on her and Eleriand, which made Serana feel very uncomfortable. She looked to Lortheim, who smiled and nodded his head. So she followed Eleriand and the old man, to wherever they were headed.

They found themselves in a small room, not made of rock like the rest of the cave. Inside there were chairs and tables full of food, the old man kept on walking. Eventually they came upon another room, empty except for a glass case with what seemed to be the Black Book inside. The elderly man opened the case, grabbing the book into his hand. Serana thought she heard a few evil whispers come from the work of the Daedra. The man gave it to Eleriand, who held it firmly in his hands.

"It is best if both of you read it at the same time." He said, "If you both read it, then you both will be taken; otherwise only one of you could go."

Serana and Eleriand both looked at the book, Eleriand hesitated to open it, and gave a look to Serana. She nodded, and the High Elf slowly opened the terrible black book, both of them reading its words at the same time. They made no sense, and eventually Serana felt something around her neck, she tried to turn to Eleriand, but the tentacle like object that constricted her would not allow it. She could not breathe, and it was as if the cave she had been in was slowly fading away. Serana tried to say something, but no words would come out of her mouth. Until she saw objects appearing, slowly she knew she was in another realm. She fell to the ground, the blackness becoming something else; she looked up to see a foreign place, full of books and tentacles sticking up from some sort of liquid below. She heard Eleriand right next to her stand up. She did so as well. The realm was all a green color, and it gave her a bad feeling in her heart, suddenly she was reminded of the day she had been offered to Molag Bal, When he defiled her. She looked to the sky and heard a voice come from the distance.

"Finally, you two have come." She heard, and saw an eye staring down at her.

**This chapter may have upset some people; because I am sure you all wanted the Dragonborn to be in some super-duper awesome place that nobody would expect. But this is where he is, in Apocrypha, where all knowledge is stored. I couldn't think of a better place to put him. But look at It like this, we are one step closer to see the Dragonborn cut up a few undead zombie Nord things!**

** As for this chapter, I leave you with a special quote…**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Is there gold hidden in the village? Is there silver? Gems? Is there food? Where is Lord Beric? Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? Is there gold in the village?" –Arya Stark, daughter of Ned, Cool assassin person, and no one. **

**Ps: Sorry Storm, but he is not in Blackreach.**


	34. Eleriand VII

Eleriand

"I have been watching you two." The voice said, "I am impressed, not any person could do what you have done in that matter of time."

The voice sounded awkward, and whoever it was, they were speaking very slowly. Eleriand himself had been greatly disturbed, but when he turned to Serana, he saw that she did not fear this realm. Perhaps being a Daughter of Coldharbour, and being offered to Molag Bal had caused her not to fear the Daedra.

"You are in Apocrypha, where all knowledge is stored. You may return to your world if you wish by reading the book…but I suspect you do not wish to go back, do you? Yes…you came to find _him,_ you will…but you might notice that he has…changed."

In front of Eleriand was a mass of deadly looking liquid, tentacles sprang out and tried to hit anything nearby. From the distance something that served as a bridge began to approach, Serana went in first, and Eleriand followed. Inside was a hall of stacked books as far as the eye can see. The more he looked; Eleriand realized there were spirits inside with them, scouring the shelves for knowledge. Eleriand resisted the urge to go and read on of the books, and kept his eyes forward in order to find the Dragonborn.

"Yes, read from the books of Apocrypha, and the most powerful forbidden knowledge will be yours."

Eleriand could only assume that the voice that was speaking had been the Daedric Prince of knowledge and fate himself. Eleriand had never truly fancied the Daedra, even when he was a vampire. He never had loyalty to Molag Bal, nor did he worship Sithis or any of the gods that were common amongst them. Eleriand worshipped nothing, not to say that he did not believe in the gods; but he did not particularly like them all too much.

"Eleriand, come on." Serana said, and he suddenly realized that he was lagging behind, staring at the innumerous collection of books. And it was as if a voice was ringing inside his head.

_Read them._

"Eleriand!" he heard the girl say, but he did not move from that spot. He felt his arms move forward and suddenly realized he had picked up one of the books on the shelves, he held it in his hand, ready to pry it open and find out what secrets were inside. Until he dropped the book and felt a pain in his wrist, Serana had smacked the book out of his hand.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Yes…yes I'm fine…let's go, come on." Eleriand told her as he quickly walked forward. He had almost succumbed to exactly what the Daedra would have wanted; if he had read the book then he would have never wanted to leave, His hunger for knowledge to never be fulfilled.

"Yes…delve deeper into my library and you will find what you seek." Hermaeus Mora said.

They did so, going deeper through the halls of knowledge. Eleriand saw as the spirits gave him a look of sadness, as if they wished they too were still mortal. He looked to Serana, but still she seemed to have no fear nor be bothered by this realm, Eleriand had never seen her act this way, nor had he felt more out of place.

"Don't be scared," Serana said, "The Daedra feed off of fear."

He tried to compose himself, but he had always been told that the Daedra were evil and dangerous creatures. Capable of bending people to their will, Eleriand felt no comfort in being inside the realm of one of the most powerful of the Daedra. Many good and strong people had been seduced by the empty promises of Hermaeus Mora, Eleriand hoped he would not fall victim to the same tactics.

When they had delved so deep that they couldn't see the entrance, Eleriand noticed a book upon a pedestal in the distance. When they got closer Eleriand noticed that it was exactly like the Black Book they had read.

"Yes, read to the next chapter, and you will find what you seek." The Daedric Prince said, as if begging them to read it, Eleriand did not doubt that the Prince was enjoying watching them delve through his realm.

"At the same time," Eleriand said, and Serana nodded her head.

The two stared into the depths of the Daedric letters written onto the book before them. Eventually Eleriand noticed that the realm he was in was disappearing before him. The books were gone, Serana was gone, and all that he could see was darkness. And then Apocrypha reappeared again, and he noticed that he was no longer in front of the book, but instead in an open area. He could not see the liquid sea below, or the endless array of books. He looked to his right and saw Serana. It felt as if Eleriand was above the ground for some reason, until he realized he was on a mountain of sorts, or something over the ground. He looked forwards and saw a skeleton on the ground; a sword was next to it.

"You are here, at the summit of Apocrypha," the Daedra said, "Here you will find what you seek, all though…perhaps not what you wanted."

"Wait a minute," Eleriand heard Serana say, and then she took a few steps forward. A look of disbelief on her face, "Look!" she said, pointing forward, and Eleriand saw.

There was a figure in the distance; Eleriand could not make it out at first. But eventually he realized that it was _him_, the one they had traveled so long and hard for. He moved forward slowly, in looking very carefully in order to confirm his thoughts. Until he was indeed sure that the man before them was Valor.

The Dragonborn had been of Nordic and Elven descent. His mother had been of Nordic blood, while his father was an Altmer. All though you could not tell, due to his skin being light, not golden like Eleriand. Although his face did exhibit some elven features, he mostly looked a Nord. His hair was long and white, and his eyes were a light blue, like most Nords, it was then that Eleriand noticed that all of his vampiric features were gone. He was clad in the Ancient Falmer armor that he had won in a battle against the elf Vyrthur. He turned towards them, a blank expression on his face, as if he did not notice them.

"Valor!" Serana called out and rushed forward, Eleriand followed slowly; he would let the two have their moment.

"It's really you, I can't believe it!" Serana called out, but the Dragonborn still made no move to come forward. Then something happened that Eleriand could not explain, Valor's face looked as if filled with hate, he unsheathed his blade, long and slender and made of the finest Skyforge steel. When Serana approached, he pointed the tip of his blade at her, taking a defensive stance.

"Stand back," he said, his voice sounding quite different than Eleriand remembered, it sounded raspy and dark, fouler.

"It's me, Serana." She said, walking closer slowly, Eleriand did not understand, did Valor forget who they were after all this time? Eleriand found it unlikely.

"Valor, put the sword away." Serana out her hand on the blade, slowly lowering it, Eleriand moved closer, wondering what was wrong with the Dragonborn.

But Valor did the unthinkable; when Serana approached he struck a blow towards her with his sword, she barely escaped, suffering a small cut across her bare chest. Eleriand could not believe what was happening. Serana looked mortified, shocked that he would do such a thing. Valor leaped forward, bringing down his blade, but Serana managed to jump back. Eleriand just stood there watching, not understanding what was going on.

"Yes," Eleriand heard Hermaeus Mora say, "I told you he was different…he is under my control."

Eleriand didn't know what to do, but when he saw Serana almost cut down by the Dragonborn, he felt there was no other alternative than to unsheathe his sword. He may not be able to defeat Valor, but perhaps he could stall him, or do something, maybe knock him out.

"Serana, keep your distance." Eleriand told her.

"Leave this realm, now." Valor told them but Eleriand did the opposite, slowly approaching the man Eleriand once called his friend. He stared the Dragonborn down, ready for anything. Valor had always been quicker and stronger than Eleriand was, but he could keep up with him when they sparred.

"I am not going anywhere." Eleriand replied, and Valor jumped forward, his sword going down with him. Eleriand leaped backwards, dodging the attack. His plan was to stay on the defensive, he would not kill the Dragonborn, but perhaps if he could knock him out, get him unconscious, and then maybe they could leave this realm.

"You're not as fast as you once were." Eleriand said, readying himself for Valor to strike. He couldn't help but wonder if Hermaeus Mora was laughing at them both while they fought.

Valor swung his sword to the left, and Eleriand quickly parried the blow. The Dragonborn responded by kicking Eleriand in the stomach. Pain coursed through him as he let out a few coughs. Soon enough though he felt another pain through his leg, and realized that Valor had cut him with his blade, and Eleriand fell on one knee; unable to rise. Eleriand looked into Valor's eyes and saw a completely different person; whatever Hermaeus Mora had done to him had definitely worked.

He couldn't help but think that their journey was a waste of time. They came all this way, only to encounter the Dragonborn being controlled by a Daedra. Although Eleriand knew that Serana probably felt worse, the one person that had made her happy now wanted to kill her. Perhaps they would both die in here; it was a fate Eleriand was willing to accept.

But there was a green flash, and The Dragonborn all of a sudden stopped moving, and fell to the floor. Eleriand did not understand, until he turned to Serana, then he knew; she had paralyzed the Dragonborn. Even the strongest of warriors could do nothing against a paralyze spell.

"Hurry up and grab him!" Serana said.

"Grab him? What happens when he is no longer paralyzed and kills us?" Eleriand asked.

"Just do it!"

Eleriand reluctantly agreed, and summoned his strength in order to pick up Valor. He was lighter than Eleriand expected all though still difficult to carry.

"Hmmm…" the Daedra said, "Yes, take him with you; bring him to Tamriel…whether here or in Skyrim, he will die; and I will have a new champion soon…it has already begun."

"Open the book!" Eleriand said, and Serana brought the books he had been carrying to Eleriand, and together they opened it and read its pages. Once again the realm of Oblivion disappeared; and Eleriand thought he heard the Daedric Prince laughing as they left, the realm out of their sight and only blackness visible.

And then Eleriand was back inside the cave, before him was still the elderly man of the Order of Talos. His eyes were wide open with amazement when he saw the Dragonborn of legend before him, stiff as stone.

"He's here! Hah!" the man said in joy, "The Dragonborn has returned!"

"Don't get too happy." Eleriand said, "We still have a problem; he is not really himself?"

"The Daedra had control over him, didn't they?"

"Indeed, tried to kill us. He is paralyzed for now, but it won't last forever." Eleriand told him.

"What do we do?" Serana asked.

"We must cleanse him of the Daedra's influence, although I am afraid that is beyond the power of any man." The old man said.

"Then who can help him?" Eleriand asked.

"You will see, now follow me."

The man led them back outside, to the open cave where the Order of Talos had their meeting earlier. The group was still there; Lortheim looked astonished when he saw Eleriand carrying the Dragonborn.

"The Dragonborn has returned!" the old man shouted, and the group looked amazed, they did not believe that Valor was truly inside of Apocrypha. Although now it seemed that was true.

"Lay him in the middle, under the Magelight." The elderly man said, and Eleriand did as he asked; setting Valor down onto the ground.

"Order!" the elderly man said, "The Dragonborn's mind is currently under control of Hermaeus Mora himself! No man can overcome the will of the Daedra…but I can."

The group was doubtful. "What do you mean?" one said, "Are you trying to tell us you are not a man?"

"Indeed," the old one said, "I am not a man…I am Talos. Nordic God of war, anointed by the divines, raised from man to godhood. I have been among you for a very long time, watching everything that has been happening to Skyrim."

The group could not believe what he had said; some seemed to truly think he was Talos, while others seemed doubtful. "Blasphemy!" one called out.

"I cannot prove to you that I am indeed Tiber Septim, but I can give you my word; I am an avatar of the divine. Come to see that he Dragonborn is found and returned to Tamriel."

Eleriand found no reason to think that this man was not Talos, nobody had ever referred to him by name, and he did not doubt that the divines would somehow interfere in the events currently taking place in Skyrim.

"You two," Talos said, "You have done Skyrim a great service, now there can be hope again."

"You welcome." Eleriand said, unsure if those were the correct words to say at the moment.

"Although I am sure that this is not the last you will see of Hermaeus Mora, you have, for now; escaped his grasp." Talos said, or the old man who said he was Talos.

"I will return the Dragonborn to you, but there are some things you must know first," he said, "What is happening in Skyrim, the travesty that is plaguing its people; is not coming out of nowhere. It was written down in the prophecy of the Dragonborn, though it has now been long forgotten. It is not recorded on Alduin's wall, for the Akaviri did not know it. The return of Konahrik was prophesied, foretold hundreds if not thousands of years ago. Perhaps before Serana herself was born."

Eleriand could not help but wonder how he knew Serana's name, but soon realized that a divine probably knew his name as well.

"The Dragonborn is destined to slay Konahrik, the last Dragon Priest. Your actions helped fulfill the prophecy, so for that; you may take pride in…now, I will return the Dragonborn to you, as my last act on Tamriel, before I must return to Aetherius."

And the divine approached the Dragonborn of legend, and simply laid a finger on his forehead, almost as if he was poking him. And the paralyze spell seemed to wear off. Talos soon then disappeared out of nowhere, giving Eleriand one last look.

Then the Dragonborn rose, and looked to Eleriand in the eyes.

**Well, it has finally happened. The freaking Dragonborn has returned! Don't you all just love Talos? I wonder what the Thalmor would say if they saw that!**

** Well I hope you guys were not disappointed, as I enjoyed writing this chapter, I deeply hoped you enjoyed reading it.**

** Anyways, no quote cause I can't find one; so I will give you a quote from George Lucas, the greatest businessman in Hollywood instead!**

** "Special effects are just a means of telling a story." –George Lucas, the guy who directed the star wars movies…well…not all of them...**


	35. Valor

Valor

It was as if he had awoken after being asleep for a very long time.

He turned his head a few times, his neck bothering him. He felt stiff and was unable to move fluidly for just a moment, until he regained full control over his body and slowly rose to his feet. He didn't know where he was, and at first he didn't recognize these people either.

But he recognized two of them.

The first person he had seen was Eleriand, and for some reason Valor felt as if he had not seen him in a very long time. He truly could not explain the feeling inside his head, as if time had passed without him; like he had awoken from a long slumber, like the Dragon Priests, except Valor was alive.

And then he saw Serana, who stared at him intently for a few moments. Valor rubbed his head, he had a massive headache and It did not seem to be going away soon. When he looked back up he saw Serana rush forward and pull Valor into a massive bear hug. At first it was amusing, but then Valor could tell that something was different with her, as if she had not seen him in ages. Her arms were wrapped around him as she let out a few tears. Valor awkwardly stroked her hair slowly, trying to understand what was going on.

"Did I miss something?" he asked.

Serana let go of him and stared him in the eyes, a frown appearing on her face, "Yes," Serana said, "Three years of your life."

_What? _Valor thought, he didn't understand. What had she meant by missing three years of his life? It was then that Valor finally realized he was no longer in Apocrypha, the last place he remembered being. He attempted to remember if he had left the plane, but he was not entirely sure. The last thing he remembered was when Hermaeus Mora had killed Miraak, after that…nothing.

"What do you mean?" Valor asked.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" Serana asked.

Valor was about to respond, but before he could he was interrupted by a man hidden in the shadows. It was then that Valor realized he was in a secret meeting of the Order of Talos. A secret society that Valor himself had close relation with.

"Dragonborn, you two may have time to yourselves latter." He said, "But right now, once again Skyrim is in need of your help."

"What do you require of me?" Valor asked.

"It is a threat unimaginable, Draugr are running freely across Skyrim, killing at will. Only you can stop them, Dragonborn. It is your destiny.

"Dragonborn, I do not wish to keep you from your duty; Skyrim needs you. Go and see for yourself what I speak of, when you do. You will understand why this land needs your help."

"Uh…okay." Valor said, not sure how the Draugr could possibly invade Skyrim. There could not possibly be enough in the Nordic ruins to defeat the Imperial Legion.

Serana tugged at the leather under his armor slightly, "Come one, we have a lot to talk about. Let's get out of here."

He gave one last look to the Order, although it was not like he could see half of them anyway. Most were hidden in the darkness, so Valor just waved directly in front of him and hoped someone was in that direction. He followed Serana into total darkness, Eleriand following.

When they had gone far enough and had come to what seemed the entrance, they had all left the cave. Walking into what use to be the harsh blizzards of Windhelm, although now it was calm and contained.

It was then that Valor turned to Eleriand, "My friend." Valor began, "It seems you did a good job at watching over Serana while I was gone. Although it may have been longer than I planned."

"No problem, my friend; she proved easy enough to keep safe in the long run."

It was then that Valor had a closer look at Eleriand, then to Serana. He noticed that they both were lacking their vampiric features; he looked at Serana in amazement. They had a conversation on whether she had ever thought about curing herself before, and basically her answer was no. Valor quickly grabbed her hand, and knew that she did indeed cure herself when her hands felt warm. Then Valor studied her eyes, which were no longer the glowing orange of normal vampires, but instead a light blue.

"You…you cured yourself?" Valor asked.

"Yes…" Serana began, "I felt it was time; plus, it seems you aren't a vampire either."

"No…" Valor said, "I…cured myself quite a while ago."

"Figured as much," Serana said, "It doesn't matter anymore, now; apparently, you have some Draugr to kill."

"Where do we start?" Valor said, "Where are the Draugr?"

"There was smoke rising from Windhelm not too long ago." Eleriand said.

"Are you saying that Windhelm was attacked?" Valor said.

"it is a possibility we cannot ignore, although we did not see any Draugr approaching while we were in the city."

"We will go to one of the shorter mountains and take a look; if Windhelm was invaded, then we should be able to see an army from far away. I will not risk walking into Windhelm only to be killed by some undead Nord."

It was soon after that when the three made their way down the mountain. Valor didn't truly know what was going on, but he would do what he could in order to help Skyrim overcome this threat. If there was a Dragon priest on the loose, then Valor could think of nobody else with enough power to stop it.

When they had scaled down the mountain, they noticed that the sun was already setting. Valor himself felt very tired, but apparently Eleriand and Serana were not. They set out the one tent they had, and Serana let Eleriand sleep in it this time. While Serana and Valor were sitting outside; they couldn't light a fire due to there not being any trees around. So they dealt with the cold. As much as Valor did not feel like going to sleep, he would need as much energy as possible for the journey to Windhelm ahead.

Valor slept shortly after that, Serana wanted him to stay up so they could talk; but Valor almost dropped out there and now. It felt as if he had not slept in a very long time, he went to sleep on the snow, the cold not bothering him, only his dreams.

He was inside the Thalmor embassy. In front of him was Elenwen, signing letters and giving them to a courier. She looked the same as she did before, and even though Valor was half Altmer, he still felt a deep hatred for the Thalmor. Elenwen signed the last of the letters, and stared Valor in the eyes as if she knew he was there. Then, it was as if everything had changed, the Thalmor embassy turned to what seemed a mass of tentacles. And from it came an eye larger than Valor was himself. The eye stared him down, peering into his very soul. Then images of an act long ago came into Valor's mind, he saw Miraak during their battle, when Hermaeus Mora had taken Valor's side and betrayed his greatest servant. _"May he be rewarded for his service, as I am." _The words echoed around him, tentacles coming to wrap around the Dragonborn. And Valor felt as if they were trying to choke him.

"Did you think to escape me, Valor?" the words sounded almost like something he had heard before, "You can hide nothing from me here! No matter…I have a new servant now."

_"Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know?" _more words of Miraak rang through the darkness. And the tentacles began to constrict around Valor's neck, not allowing him to breathe. Still, the eye stared down at him, and fear struck into the Dragonborn's heart. Suddenly, the words of Miraak seemed to make sense for the first time.

And then he saw Miraak directly in front of him, laughing behind that terrible mask _"May he be rewarded for his service, as I am." _The words came again, and still Valor's neck was being constricted, until the vision began to darken. The tentacles and Miraak all disappeared, and he awoke with the ring of a Daedra laughing.

He awoke from his dreams, his neck sweating uncontrollably. He rubbed his head slightly, still having a headache. Valor was breathing heavily, as if he had just ran from Markarth to Riften. The sky was still dark, and he turned to see if Serana was still asleep, and she was. He looked at her for a few more moments, she had told him he had been gone for three years…yet he did not remember anything after defeating Miraak. It was as if part of his life had been erased without him knowing.

_Should I wake her? _Valor thought, _No, leave her be. _She would need the energy if they were to get to Windhelm, and he would not bother her with his problems at the moment. _I'll let her rest. _

He rose from the cold rock he had been sleeping on, it was very uncomfortable, so he was not sad to be off it. Valor stared at Serana then to the tent that Eleriand was in. He didn't know what to do; he wanted to speak with Serana about what had happened, how she found him and where he had been for three years. But he didn't want to wake her, that would be rude and she needed to rest.

He pondered on his dreams, the nightmares still on his mind. And then, it was as if a voice was ringing through his head, a voice he was all too familiar with.

_"You cannot escape me." _It said, and Valor knew from the sound of it that it was indeed Hermaeus Mora.

Valor's head hurt more, and the Dragonborn groaned in pain. _"I am always watching." _Mora said. Valor wanted him to stop, to leave him alone, but he had no power over the Daedra. No dragon blood or shout could stop one of the most powerful of beings in meddling in his life. It was then that Valor wished he had never read the Black Book that led him to Miraak.

_It's so cold out here. _He thought, perhaps he should search some wood, and light it with a flames spell. He knew plenty fire spells to begin with after his time at the College of Winterhold.

_"It has only begun, I have foreseen it. You will die, everyone you love will die, and then you will belong to…me." _

Eleriand came from the tent soon after, and Valor noticed that the voices inside his head from Hermaeus Mora began to dwindle until eventually he stopped. The High Elf sat down right across from him, a loaf of bread in his hands. He ripped it in half and offered it to Valor.

"Eat it; the sun should be rising soon."

Valor took the bread gratefully, he was hungry, and he would admit that. And thirsty as well, one again his body felt drained, probably from the supposed three years that had gone by without a trace of his whereabouts.

"The letter you left, about the Book of the Dragonborn. That's what led us to you." Eleriand said plainly.

"I figured as much."

"Why did you write the letter? Was it planned, or just a coincidence?"

"Well," Valor said, "I left Skyrim in order to challenge Miraak, basically a very powerful Dragon Priest. I left the letter in case I did not survive, so that you both would have an answer for what happened to me. I hated the thought of Serana sitting in Castle Volkihar with the hope that she would wake up in the morning and I might be there. Even though I was actually killed."

"So, you wrote the letter in case something happened to you, you assumed that we were smart enough to figure out what you meant in order to lead us to the Order of Talos, then you assumed that they would have an answer for us. So it is just luck that you happened to be in Apocrypha and they just happened to have a Black Book for us?"

"Well, I gave them the Black Book before I went to challenge Miraak, in case I did not make it out they would know what became of me. It just so happens that I was stuck in there for apparently three years, my mind controlled by Hermaeus Mora, at least that's what you said." Valor replied.

"Well, you're lucky we figured it out, or else you would be in Apocrypha forever and Skyrim would have been destroyed by some Dragon Priest." Eleriand said.

"I guess your right…" Valor said, turning to see Serana, she was tossing and turning in the last bedroll they had. The other one had been in the tent, Valor was the only one who slept on the giant rock, apparently being Dragonborn meant you were immune to pain and thus had to sleep on rocks.

"I'm assuming Serana wasn't too much to handle?" Valor said.

"Not really, all though she didn't understand when to be quiet some times." Eleriand said, "I had to kill Vingalmo in order to keep my promise, Dragonborn."

"Really? Why, did he try to kill you?"

"Exactly, so I plunged a dagger so far through his neck it came out the other side. I grabbed Serana and got out of there."

"You forgot the part where you knocked me out."

Valor turned to see Serana walking from her bedroll, and sitting right next to Valor, "He hit me right on the head and abducted me against my will."

"I think it turned out good for you in the long run though, didn't it?" Eleriand asked.

Serana rested her head in the crook of Valor's neck, "Guess so." Valor answered for her. She seemed glad enough to see him, so he assumed that would be her answer.

"Alright, so let's clear some things up early on." Valor said, "So I was in Apocrypha this whole time, meanwhile Skyrim is being attacked by Draugr. You two came to find me while using the letter I sent you; went through a long scavenger hunt, only to find me in Apocrypha."

"Yes." Serana said.

_May he be rewarded for his service, as I am. _The words rang into Valor's head, as if Mora was trying to say something. Obviously the others noticed something was wrong, because they had a confused expression on both their faces. "Are you okay?" Serana asked.

_"His spirit is inside you," _the voice said, _"You will become just like him soon." _

"Valor!" Serana said, shaking him slightly, "What's going on?"

"_It has already begun."_

"Valor!"

"I'm fine!" he said, sounding harsher than he meant to, "I…just…I need some rest, that's all."

Serana's face seemed concerned, although Eleriand looked more confused than concerned. Valor rose to his feet awkwardly, massaging his forehead, wishing the headache would go away.

He went back to the rock he slept on earlier, just wanting to close his eyes, but he couldn't. He didn't want to suffer from the nightmares again; he just sat there staring into the sky. Until eventually Eleriand went back inside his tent, and Serana sat down right by him; grabbing his hand. Her own hand was warm; a foreign feeling as far as Valor was concerned.

"Are you okay?" Serana asked.

"I'm fine…just lack of sleep for three years…that's all."

_May he be rewarded for his service, as I am. _

Valor tried not to linger on the words of Hermaeus Mora; instead he turned to Serana and tried to smile. "It's alright; you should get some rest, tomorrow's journey isn't easy."

But she didn't leave, nor go to sleep; she stayed right there next to him. But she would never know what was going on in Valor's mind; never understand the words of the Daedra that were currently haunting him.

"Try not to linger on his words." Serana said.

"What?" Valor said, how could she possibly know what had been going on inside his head? How the Daedra was tormenting him? But then it came to him, Serana was a Daughter of Coldharbour, she may be cured; but her soul still belonged to Molag Bal. She had dealt with Daedra before, longer than Valor ever had.

"I can tell by your face, he is talking to you, isn't he?" Serana asked, "Hermaeus Mora?"

"Yes…" he whispered to himself, but she could still hear him.

"Daedra are all liars, even the ones that don't seem like it at first, don't listen to them."

He tried to ignore Mora like Serana had told him; but it seemed that whenever he blinked he saw tentacles coming for him. Something was wrong, he didn't feel the same as before, his head pained his immensely and his mind pained him more. He would not go to sleep again for the rest of the night, only sit there, with Serana; hoping the Daedra would go away.

**Well I hope you guys aren't disappointed with this chapter, because I actually enjoyed writing it. I especially liked writing the dream scene…ya know, for some reason I like putting my characters through hell, does that make me a sick person?**

** Anyway remember to review, I would really like to know what you think about Mora speaking to Valor through his mind, and what you think the dream means. Because yes, EVERY dream so far in this story contains some form of foreshadowing, whether true or not. **

** "Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died." –Jorah Mormont. **


	36. The Last Heir

The Last Heir

They disregarded the horses before the battle. Archery on top of horses was difficult, and the men needed this fight to be as easy as possible. Not only that, but horses would have a lot of trouble storming the bridge; the stairs leading to the structures around Windhelm were not wide enough to take more than one horsed soldier at a time. Not a good idea if they wanted victory.

The Prince had set up camp a few miles outside of Windhelm. The Draugr were not foolish enough to come near them just yet. It seemed as if even the undead possessed more brains than some of the soldiers Vaeril had to deal with. "Let's just storm in and kill them all!" some would say, "No need for rest, I can chop up ten in a minute!" Vaeril disregarded their comments, they did not know better, apparently.

When the scouts had come back with word of Windhelm's fall, the Legate's in Vaeril's company seemed saddened. The Prince himself had never seen Windhelm, and did not know of its importance, or who lived there. He had no attachment at all to the people of Skyrim, only to kill as many Draugr as possible in the name of his dead sister.

_I will avenge you. _Vaeril would think to himself often. He might not be able to take down the exact Draugr that had killed her, but he could kill as many of their kind as possible before he died. He thanked the divines that he had received General Tullius' letter instead of his father. He would not be in Skyrim after all if he hadn't begged his father as much.

They stayed in camp for several days, Vaeril hoping the scouts he had sent would return with valuable information. He had wanted to know whether the Draugr had set up in Windhelm, or if they had killed everyone and then moved on. All though by the looks of the city, he assumed the Draugr were intelligent enough to stay inside the city.

Instead he walked around the camp, keeping an eye on his men. He had not much else to do, and he was greatly bored with the talk of war tactics and such that the Legate's preferred to discuss. He strolled through the camp watching the men drink merrily, the healers preparing their potions and such, and soldiers' running back and forth fulfilling their duties. Vaeril wondered how they felt, war on the horizon. Nobody could be sure if they would live the next night. He didn't know how they did it. The Prince himself had not gotten any rest since they had departed from Whiterun a while ago. Not that he felt tired though, he was full of energy and ready for any challenge that might be ahead.

_I wonder what father is doing right now. _He had that thought often, he didn't know if his father missed him. Honestly, he always thought that his father saw him more as his heir than his son. Vaeril had never been bothered by this, of course; that's how the Emperor was supposed to think. At least that's what Vaeril thought he was supposed to think. The Emperor should always have an heir to further his line, and Vaeril was the only one he had left.

It was then that Vaeril saw a young soldier run towards him from the distance. It seemed as if the man had been running for quite a while, because he was gasping for air before the Prince. "You alright there, soldier?"

"Aye," he said, breathing more slowly, "I came here as fast as I could, Legate Edward asks for your presence at Windhelm at once."

"Is something wrong, what is the Legate doing at Windhelm anyways?" Vaeril asked.

"He didn't say, just that he wants you there immediately."

"Aye, I'll go." The Prince said, "Get yourself a drink my friend, you've earned it."

The soldier withdrew from the conversation and went wherever he was headed. Vaeril went towards the stable master they had brought with them. He took care of the many horses, making sure they were fed and looked presentable. Of course it was on the other side of the camp though, so it took more than ten minutes for Vaeril to eventually find himself directly in front of his horse. A grey mare with steel armor covering most of her face and body, Vaeril climbed till he was on the saddle. The stable master seemed not to notice Vaeril, so he rode without being hindered.

Windhelm was only around five minutes away, the Prince could have walked, but travel by horse is far quicker; if the Legate needed his presence, than it must be important.

He came around several smaller mountains. He turned a corner around the road, only to spot Windhelm not far away. He had been told by some of his soldiers that Windhelm was built by an ancient Nordic warrior named Ysgramor. Vaeril thought he had heard the name before, but he was not well versed in Tamrielic history, unlike his father.

He saw several tents outside the city; it seemed as if the scouts Vaeril had sent had made camp alongside the stone city. It was when Vaeril saw no Draugr that he was truly confused, he was expecting Legate Edward to tell him that the city had fallen and was overrun with undead. Perhaps this was not the case.

He rode up the bridge of Windhelm; he saw bodies stacked on top of another. Piles and piles of dead Nords, even a few dark elves, from what Vaeril saw. He assumed this was the work of the Legionnaires; no Draugr would care to stack soldiers' bodies. The stone seemed to show signs of fire; but no normal flames could burn stone.

"Prince, here!" Legate Edward Arelius shouted, he himself had been just before the gates leading to Windhelm. Vaeril pulled the reins back and halted his mare, climbing off his saddle and to the ground. His steed stayed put, for which Vaeril was grateful. He approached the Legate, a man of strong arm and an ever stronger mind. The Legate had come with the Prince directly from Cyrodiil. He had personally known his father for years. Not just as a soldier respects and follows his leader, but as a friend treats a friend. The man was taller than most Imperials, with large arms and big muscles. He was balding, and only had a short amount of hair left.

"My lord, you have finally arrived."

"You're lucky I came by horse, I had half a mind to take a nice and slow walk." The Prince replied.

"No time for walking at this time, my lord. We have a problem; the Draugr seemed to have moved on."

"I noticed that, any idea where they have gone?" Vaeril asked.

"Sent some men out not too long ago to find out, get a good look where they are headed. Only two routes to go from here, up in the north to Winterhold; or down south to Riften." Legate Edward said.

"If the Draugr had the intellect of a human they would head south, far simpler than risking the journey to Winterhold." The Legate said, "Or they split their forces and went both ways. That's what I would do."

"Perhaps; in that case I hope those scouts run speedily." Vaeril said, "Don't want the Draugr to slip out of our grasp."

"Indeed," Legate Edward said, "Come inside my lord, I'm sure you would need to see the losses. Three hundred dead if my men counted correctly. Wouldn't rely on it though, half these folks can't read or write, let alone count."

"It matters not," Vaeril said, "Unless they have food and water here; this place serves no further use."

"We should garrison some men here, my lord. Windhelm is too important to leave it empty, allow me to leave one-hundred good men to keep it guarded for the time being. Wouldn't want the Draugr to get their hands on it."

"Feel free to leave the men, if you see it as far too important than by all means garrison troops to stay. But no more than one-hundred, I still have a war to win." The Prince replied.

"Thank you, my lord." Legate Edward said, "On another note, all the women and children were slain as well. We also noticed that there were gashes of sorts on their bodies, where the soldiers saw that the organs of the body had been extracted. Some seem to believe the Draugr feasted on them."

"I wouldn't put it below them; the savage things probably feast on each other." Vaeril replied, "Show these bodies to me."

"Of course, my lord." The Legate said, opening the large doors leading inside the city.

Inside the Prince expected only a few more bodies, but instead was greeted to even more stacks of dead men, slain in battle against the Draugr. Vaeril followed the Legate as he led him towards the dead warriors. The smell mortified the Prince to no end, he tried to ignore it but found that extremely difficult the closer he got.

When they approached the pile, the Legate pointed to a massive hole in one of their chests. Noticing that on the left side there was no heart, nor was there any lungs; it was as if someone had blown dozens of holes inside the bodies.

"All of the bodies are missing hearts, lungs and any other vital asset to the body." Legate Edward said, "Not only that, but some are missing eyes, tongues, and all manner of other necessities. Any idea why?"

"Perhaps the Draugr grew hungry," Vaeril said, "I see no reason to take caution, put a sword through their bony body and they won't be eating any more-!"

"My lord!" a voice came from the gates, Vaeril and the Legate both turned to see a soldier run towards them. He seemed familiar, and Vaeril assumed that he was one of the scouts that Legate Edward had sent to discover the movement of the Draugr.

"We found the Draugr!"

"Where are they headed lad?" the Legate asked.

"They split in two, each bearing ten thousand. One is headed for Riften, the other up north for Winterhold."

"So, it seems you were right after all, Prince Vaeril." The Legate told him, "What do we do now?"

"What we can; Legate, you take half the forces and head up to Winterhold, I will take the other half and make way to Riften. How far away are they?" Vaeril asked.

"Not terribly far, around half a day's journey by horse at least."

"Well then, you know what to do Legate; tell the other commanders I gave you permission to take half the forces. You will put those Draugr to heel and save Winterhold if that what it takes."

"Of course my lord," Edward said.

"And I will go to Riften, tell the men to saddle up. It's a long journey south and I don't want the Draugr to get there before we do."

**Well Riften and Winterhold are finally joining in the fray…assuming the Draugr get there. What did you think if this chapter, hate it? Thought there was little going on and wish I would just stop writing and hand the story over to someone else who can write one chapter without having five typos? Or did you love it and think I am the best author on this web site like out good friend Zimexus?**

** II don't know if any of you are on the ASOIAF forums, but if you are than look up the member "The Crow." That's me!**

** No small quote, but I think it's important…**

** "Do you think the noble Lord of Winterfell wanted to hear my feeble explanations? Such and ****_honorable_**** man. He only had one look to judge me guilty. By what right does the wolf judge the lion? ****_By what right?" –_****Jaime Lannister, coolest lion in all of Westeros.**


	37. Mychael V

Mychael

The College of Winterhold was smaller than he expected. Mychael imagined it much larger, and more mysterious.

The city…town of Winterhold was also smaller than Mychael imagined. There was an absence of ruins and debris even though the city was supposedly ravaged by the Great collapse many years ago. The people seemed well enough, all though some were disgruntled by their life in the cold of Skyrim and wished to return south to Whiterun or Falkreath. Mychael did as well; he missed the marketplace of Whiterun and looking at the Gildergreen, and the majesty of Jorrvaskr. He missed the Companions and the friends he had made traveling with the Jarl; he wished he could have gone with them to seek refuge in Solitude. But fate seemed to have other uses for him.

Dawnstar was small town, so the citizens that had traveled to Winterhold were a burden to no one except for the inn. While they did not go with empty pockets, the innkeeper certainly had his work cut out for him. Only a few rooms were available, so they had to find bed rolls to place near the fire. All the others had to sleep in the Jarl's Longhouse. It was no problem; Mychael much preferred the comfort of a bed over bed rolls on the cold ground of the tavern anyways, as did Ysolda. Jon wished to stay in the tavern, to hear the bard sing. While Lydia went off wherever she pleased, it was none of Mychael's business where she went. As long as she returned by night time to settle Ysolda's worries than Mychael had no problem.

Ysolda seemed to be warming up to Mychael's company as time went on. At first Mychael could tell that she had felt uncomfortable around him at first, but the more time that passed by, the more she was around him and seemed to enjoy his company. Mychael was more than fine with that, she had been the one to end things after all; claiming she needed to focus on her oath to her parents that she was to become the best trader in Skyrim. A bogus statement to Mychael, but it mattered not; and now that Whiterun was all but destroyed, it seemed that she no longer needed to raise money to buy the Bannered Mare.

Jon and Lydia on the other hand seemed to interact with Mychael and Ysolda less when they reached Winterhold. The two each kept to themselves and Lydia herself was a mysterious one, always venturing off doing her own tasks only to return in the middle of the night. Jon just kept on speaking with the bard, who seemed to be his new best friend. Perhaps he was right, maybe song can bind people in friendship.

This day Mychael had been with Jarl Brina Merilis, and Horik Halfhand. All three were in the Jarl's longhouse this morning. Ysolda still slept and Mychael did not want to wake her, she seemed tired from the long journey through the cold mountains of the north. Jarl Kraldar sat before them on his throne. An average sized man whose hair seemed to be turning grey with age. His beard was thick but not long, and his clothes were of a normal commoner, instead of the majestic rich man's clothes most Jarls wore. He seemed like a nice enough man, and was grateful for some excitement in Winterhold; Mychael could not blame him, it did not look like this city saw much action nor had any excitement.

"I can offer you the protection of this city for only a little while. Supplies for my own people will begin to run dry soon; trade between the holds has gone to a halt ever since Whiterun fell. "

"As long as you can give us, then we will head to Windhelm." Jarl Brina said.

"Haven't you heard? Windhelm has fallen; a message arrived not too long ago requesting aid. But I cannot send what little men I have, all of the Legionnaires were given to General Tullius. I am afraid that your journey will be halted here my lady." Jarl Kraldar said.

"Then where will we go when your supplies dwindle? Will we join with the wolves? Or will we be killed by bandits? I am afraid the citizens of Dawnstar will not be leaving anytime soon. If you run low on food then my men will hunt for you, but I will not lead my citizens to their deaths." Brina Merilis said.

"Ah, it is true you Legionnaires are feisty ones. If your men would care for themselves then I see no need to send you away. Stay as long as you will, but if my food supply runs low, it will be your men that will go hunting in the cold wastes for a lone rabbit or fox. Do we have an understanding?"

"Of course Jarl Kraldar; I hope you enjoy the rest of your day." Brina Merilis said, obviously not thrilled with the Jarl's response to their conversation. All though Mychael expected no different, did she expect the Jarl to favor her citizens over his own? He had a duty to Winterhold that came before the needs of outsiders, and Mychael could respect that.

Jarl Brina turned to Horik Halfhand after the conversation had ended, "Looks like we we'll have to stay her for a while, old friend." She said, "And you should get some rest, soldier. Have a drink at the tavern, you look tired. We will be here for a while, so get some rest."

Mychael had been the only currently serving Legionnaire from Dawnstar, so his importance was magnified in the Jarl's eyes. Mychael found that as only an advantage, the Jarl's were powerful people, even the ones who governed small towns. Having one as a friend would prove useful in the future.

"Aye, I'll get a drink later, my Jarl." Mychael replied.

Jarl Brina and Horik Halfhand soon withdrew to their respected rooms. Mychael himself did not want to get a drink just yet; it was too early in the morning for such a thing. He felt tired and wanted to go back to sleep, but he didn't want to bother Ysolda nor did he feel in the mood for sleeping. For some reason it felt like he had too many things to do to go to sleep, when the truth was that he had no real responsibility. But _something _was keeping him awake.

He soon went to the inn anyways, leaving the Jarl's to their court affairs. Mychael would have no more part in it; he didn't favor those types of people, the ones that prefer to stay with the Jarl all day and make themselves seem more important than they are; even Winterhold had them. One particular Dark elf had bothered Mychael the most, because he could tell by the way he spoke he was a liar.

He opened the door when he was near the wooden building. The blaring sound of a woman shouting the words to "Ragnar the Red," attacked his ears like a feral rat. He looked around to find Jon and Lydia; Jon was listening intently to the woman sing of the warrior famed for being defeated in battle. Jon Battle-Born seemed to notice him, and Mychael could tell he was in a good mood, drink always seemed to have that effect on him.

"Hello my friend!" something Jon never called Mychael, "Come and join me in song, no finer voice has been heard in all of Skyrim than this fine beauty!" The girl laughed for a second as she sang; Mychael knew the words all too well. The bard at the Bannered Mare had sung the song far too many times for Mychael's liking.

_And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made. _Mychael repeated the verse in his head; he knew the whole song by pure memory; although the woman who was singing it was not doing it justice. Mychael took a seat at the stool right next to Jon; as he listened to the girl destroy a great song.

_And then he went quiet did Ragnar the Red when he met the shield maiden Matilda who said…_the girl continued, and Jon Battle-Born seemed to enjoy every minute of it, and the woman seemed to be happy that someone enjoyed her music.

"Aha, my friend! Revel in the beauty of the old songs of Whiterun, and the bard who sings them!" Jon Battle-Born said.

"Where is Lydia?" Mychael asked.

"Who knows? She is always here or there, or anywhere. I don't know where she is, but she is somewhere, I can tell you that."

That was no clear answer, and Mychael came to the conclusion that Jon Battle-Born was indeed very drunk. But then again, when was he not? Mychael could not remember a time since they had arrived in Winterhold that Jon was sober.

_Oh you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead so I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed! _The bard continued, sounding no better than before. She was just shouting out the words instead of singing them, even Mychael himself could do better.

"Innkeeper, a drink." Mychael said, he would only drink one. He did not fancy the thought of becoming like Jon. The man soon produced one bottle of Black-Briar mead, setting it before Mychael. The soldier reached into his pocket and pulled out a single gold coin, thanking the innkeeper and giving him his pay. Soon after Mychael took small sips from the mead, it tasted well; he would admit that.

Suddenly a guard ran inside, almost bringing the door down. He seemed in a hurry, "Everyone out, now!" The guard provided no reasoning, and Mychael feared for the worst. The bard stopped playing her songs, and everyone's eyes were on the man.

"I said out, everyone! Take your belongings and head to the College!"

"What's happening?" the Bard asked.

"Draugr, that's what. Now go!"

And then all of a sudden everyone was in a panic, Winterhold so far had been untouched by the Draugr threat, but if what the guard said was true, then they would not be out of the fight for long. Mychael hurried to the door, but the guar stopped him, "The Jarl wanted to see you, both of them."

"Aye, I'll go see them." Mychael said, hurrying. He would leave Jon to himself; it was his fault that he was drunk anyways. Mychael would not look after him. The soldier was soon out in the cold wastes, he did not see any Draugr, but that did not mean they weren't coming. Mychael quickly ran to the door leading to the Longhouse. Inside were Jarl Brina and Jarl Kraldar, along with Horik Halfhand, they were already speaking when he arrived.

"Impossible, how could they have got here so quickly? The mountains and the snow should have held them back much longer." Brina said.

"What do you want me to say? I have no answer for you, just that the Draugr will be here in twenty minutes. Unless my hunters were hitting the Skooma, I trust their judgment." Jarl Kraldar said.

"Whatever is going on, we must investigate." Horik Halfhand said, "Make sure we know what we're dealing with, see if we can defeat them. Or at least keep them at bay inside the College till help arrives."

"Horik is right, let us go and see this host for ourselves, judge the tales and see what we can do." The Jarl of Dawnstar said, and that seemed to seal the deal.

"Fine, ready yourselves and we will go see what is going." Jarl Kraldar said, right before asking his steward for his armor. Jarl Brina soon noticed Mychael's presence however.

"Get ready soldier, you are the only Legionnaire in this town. I suspect you will not shy from your duty, should I and Jarl Kraldar not return, I expect you to take command. Do you understand?"

"Aye." Mychael replied.

"Suit up then, tell the guards you were given command until we return by the Jarl. They need not know which one."

Mychael excused himself from the conversation, heading to the room he was given inside the Longhouse, He opened the door and rushed in, only to run into Ysolda, who was about to leave the room.

"Hey, what's going on?" she asked.

Mychael sped right past her and grabbed the light Legionnaire armor he had been given upon joining the Imperial Legion, "The Draugr are coming, and you need to go to the College."

"The College? What good will that do, we need to leave!" Ysolda said.

"No!" Mychael said, almost shouting, "Go to the College, you will be safe with the Mages. It is the most defensible spot in this place, it's the only hope we have left."

"Where are you going?" Ysolda asked.

"To help the guards get all the townsfolk out, we need to make sure everyone is safe." Mychael said as he rushed to don his imperial armor. It seemed as if he couldn't get his arms through the sleeves since he was in such a rush. But soon enough he got it, and his armor was fully equipped. Along with his sword belt that he had just grabbed off the table.

"Go to the College, okay?" Mychael said in a nicer tone, "Make sure Jon goes with you, he is quite drunk so he may not understand. But you have to try, okay?"

Mychael was headed out the door, his hand on the handle and beginning to open. "Mychael, wait!" Ysolda called out, so he turned around. Whatever she wanted to say had to be done fast, he had to help the guards evacuate all the citizens fast. But Ysolda simply grabbed the collar of his leather armor and yanked him forward, close enough to where their lips could connect. Mychael did not know what had sparked her to do this, but he was not complaining as their lips were locked together. Soon enough though Ysolda pulled away, "You have a job to do." She said while smiling, "Go on."

Mychael withdrew from the room soon after, and Jarl Brina and Jarl Kraldar were suited in their battle armor as well, Mychael turned when Ysolda ran out of the room, and Mychael hoped she was headed to the College like Mychael asked her to.

"Let's go see the truth of this," Jarl Brina said.

"Aye, come on now; let's see how many are coming." Jarl Kraldar replied.

"Don't you have something to do, soldier?" Brina said as she noticed his presence.

"Aye," Mychael said, "I do." He said, as he made his way out the door.

**Well, there it is. I enjoyed writing it so I hope you liked reading it!**

** Remember to review, because believe it or not…I've never written two characters kissing before! It wasn't really much here, but to me it felt like an accomplishment. Since I am REALLY bad when it comes to writing romance, so I hope it was bearable. **

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "It was the dragons we married; and now the dragons are dead! There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, The King in the North!" –Greatjon Umber.**


	38. Valor II

Valor

The golden crown before him looked beautiful; it seemed to glow from the sunlight hitting it. Jewels and gems decorated the accessory, making it look majestic and practically radiate power. It was then that Valor saw the dead man walk to it, and break it in half with one stroke from its sword.

_May he be rewarded for his service, as I am. _The words came up when the blade came down, and the crown that had once been beautiful was now broken and ruined. Soon enough the dead man looked to Valor in the eyes and it was almost as if it smiled for a brief moment, until everything turned to tentacles.

More and more came until Valor could see nothing else, he ran as far as he could, hoping to escape his fate. But his legs tired, and he could run no longer. It was then that the tentacles caught his arms and legs and held him up, and he felt as if his bones were crushing. _"His soul is inside you, you will become like him soon." _The words rang inside his head louder than the others, and soon enough the tentacles approached. And as they got closer, Valor noticed one was approaching his face, and on the tentacle was a mask, and Valor knew it was the mask of Miraak. He squirmed and thrashed, but the tentacles still kept him in their grasp. Until Valor felt the mask on his face, he shook his head, but it would not come off. Until he felt his face burn, while the tentacles constricted his neck.

_May he be rewarded for his service, as I am._

* * *

Valor woke from his bedroll, Serana was right beside him. At first he thought she was asleep, but he soon realized he was wrong when she stared up at him, a concerned look on her face.

"More nightmares?"

"Yes…" Valor said, "This one wasn't as bad as the last one though."

"You poor thing…" Serana said, leaning up to connect their lips together, "Feel better now?"

"Much better," Valor said with a small smirk on his face, "What time is it?"

"No idea, all though I think the sun should be rising soon." Serana said, "We should make it to Windhelm in a few hours."

"Once Eleriand wakes then we can continue." Valor said.

They had almost reached the base of the mountain; it had been a long enough journey so far. One that Valor himself did not fancy, he had never grown accustomed to the harsh wilds of Skyrim's snowy regions. He much preferred the climate of Whiterun or the Reach. Somewhere that he did not need to huddle around a fire during the night.

"Then we better start now," Eleriand said, coming from the tent.

"Awake already? Alright then, let hurry this up." Valor said, rising form the bed roll, Serana followed soon after. Eleriand reached into his bag and grabbed a loaf of bread, ripping a piece of and throwing it to Valor. the Dragonborn caught it, and quickly ripped off a piece, only to eat it soon after.

"It may not be gourmet cuisine, but it will keep you from starving." Eleriand said.

The piece of bread was small, but it was enough to sate Valor's hunger for the remainder of the morning. He was about to eat the rest that was left, but Serana snatched it from his hand, eating it immediately.

"Hey!"

"You didn't offer me some, so I took it." Serana said, "A girl has to eat too."

_Guess I'm just too use to her drinking blood, _Valor thought, she never needed food before; only blood. The thought brought back memories of when he himself was a vampire, all in loyalty of the Dawnguard. _I showed them undying loyalty; I became the very thing I helped destroy. And they thanked me by trying to kill Serana behind my back._

Valor had been on bad terms with Isran before his apparent disappearance from Skyrim. He didn't know what the old man was doing now, but he had no interest in speaking with him. He hadn't told Eleriand the truth, he had not gone to the Dawnguard before his disappearance to plan the attack on Castle Volkihar, he went there to confront Isran. That was the true reason he had told Eleriand to watch over Serana.. Only he was sidetracked along the way to the Fort, and found himself answering the challenge of Miraak soon after.

"All right, let's go; Windhelm should be visible soon." Eleriand said.

It was then that the three packed up their things and journeyed down the mountain once again. It had taken longer to get down than he had remembered it taking to go up when he occasionally met the Order. Occasionally they would have to warm up by a small fire, but that ended quickly when the snow ceased to fall and they near the base of the mountain. It was at this time they looked down upon the surface, to the city of Windhelm.

No smoke was rising, and no signs of the cities destruction were noticeable. But the one thing Valor did notice was the amount of tents he saw not terribly far away from the city. Occasionally he could see one man walking from Windhelm to the camp, or several horsed soldiers that would trot along to their destination. It was clear a large army was stationed here. But as they were looking, the three noticed that some of the great host was breaking apart, and Valor noticed that they were leaving as he saw men scurry along to pack the tents and gather the supplies.

"We need to get down there fast." Valor said.

"Aye, before they leave, let's go." Eleriand agreed, and the group scaled down the last and least treacherous part of the mountain. Valor didn't know whose army that was, he suspected General Tullius; but he had been gone for three years. For all Valor knew, the General could be dead.

The mountain soon became easier to scale as they continued on, until it became simply hopping from one ledge to the other. At first they took it like a game, or at least Valor and Serana did. Eleriand just kept to himself. But they took it more seriously when Serana almost fell off one of the ledges. Had Valor not been there to quickly grab her arm and pull her up, she would have plummeted to her death.

"Thanks," Serana said as she stared at the distance she almost fell down.

"No problem." Valor said.

Eventually the ground was only ten or so feet away, Valor leaped onto the last ledge. Soon quickly leaping off and onto the ground. Eleriand followed soon after, as did Serana. Valor made sure that she did not land wrong, standing right where she was about to land. But she landed fine, and the three went on.

They were only a yard away from Windhelm, the city of Ysgramor. Valor had visited the place several times, the most memorable was the day he struck down Ulfric Stormcloak with his own blade.

_And when I killed Alianor. _Valor thought, he would never forget that day. It was during the Battle of Windhelm, at least a year before he met Serana. Valor himself had been ready to kill as many rebels as possible. When the gates were brought down, he rushed in, cutting down one Stormcloak after another. One particular female soldier hesitated when to strike him down. Not knowing who she was due to her face being covered by a Stormcloak helmet, he drove his sword straight through the woman's heart. It was when her helmet fell off after she herself tumbled to the ground did Valor realize he had killed the one person he loved most. They had not spoken since she randomly disappeared months before. He never felt more terrible, he knew she had joined the Stormcloaks, and left him after learning he was to join the Legion. He never forgave himself that day; he had still been grieving for his loved one at the moment he ventured into Serana's tomb

"Valor!" he heard Serana shout, and realized he had been reminiscing of that day this whole time.

"Sorry," Valor said, quickly catching up with the other two.

The closer they got to Windhelm, the colder they grew. Not as cold as they were in the mountains, but there was a reason why Windhelm was the snowiest region in Skyrim. Valor needed warmth, he breathed on his hands, but that was not enough. Valor didn't know why, but this weather felt colder than it did in the mountains, despite the climate in the mountains being far worse.

_Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know? _The voice came into Valor's mind instantly. Just when he felt the Daedra was beginning to leave him alone, he is left with more messages and taunts from the powerful Prince of knowledge.

_I wonder if Molag Bal speaks to Serana on a daily basis too. _Valor thought, although he doubted it. Serana had been a friendly, kind, and mostly sane person. He did not think that she could be the person she was if she was constantly harassed by the king of Rape.

_Then again, she never wanted to talk about the ceremony. Why would she want to talk about this? _Valor thought, the first time he asked her what happened at the ceremony, she was rather defensive. Only saying, "It was…degrading." Valor knew what degrading meant when it came to the King of Rape.

"Valor, are you okay?" Serana asked as she tugged on the leather under his armor slightly.

Valor had been stuck in his thoughts again, "Fine, just thinking about something…that all." He tried to smile, but it looked more nervous than genuine. He hoped she would accept his answer; he did not want her to worry about him.

"All right, come one." She said, grabbing his hand to make sure he followed them this time. Eleriand had an odd face, like he suspected what was going on in Valor's mind. The Dragonborn doubted it though, neither of them could understand, maybe Serana; as she did suspect that the Daedra was speaking to him. But still, he doubted it.

After a great deal of walking they were finally entering the large camp. Everyone was scurrying to either do their job or pack up all of the things needed for the march. The tents were being brought down, while Valor instantly recognized the command tent. He took the lead, releasing Serana's hand and letting the two follow him for once.

A few soldiers seemed to stop what they were doing and stared at the Dragonborn of legend. Some looked like Nordic warriors, and perhaps had served in Skyrim and recognized him. He gave a quick nod to any that seemed to know him, and sped quickly towards the largest tent in the camp. Which nobody was trying to bring down for movement.

Valor turned to Serana and Eleriand, "Let me do the talking." He opened the flap of the tent, heading inside immediately. It seemed to look smaller on the inside that it did outside, but it was large enough for a wooden table with a map of Skyrim on it.

"Riften should hold for a time, but the…Who is this?" a man clad in Imperial heavy armor said, a sound of disgust on his face.

"Guards! Kill this-!" the Legate began, but he was interrupted by a young man on the other side of the table. The symbol of the Imperial Legion was engraved on the chest plate of his armor. His hair was long and jet black, and he seemed to act more mature than most his age.

"Calm, my friend; no need for bloodshed just yet. Enough men have died in this land so far." He said, then turning to Valor, "Now, are my men giving free reign to anyone and allowing them to wander into my tent unhindered? State your business, stranger."

"Are you Legionnaires, my friend?" Valor asked.

"Sort of..."

"Well, I am a Legionnaire, Legate Valor; perhaps you have heard of me?"

"A Legate, eh? Tell me, 'Legate' where is your Imperial uniform?" the young man asked.

"Rather have this," The Dragonborn pointed to his Ancient Falmer armor that he had won in battle against Vyrthur, "Much light and easier to travel and sneak by the enemy."

The Legate looked unconvinced, but the young man had an amused look on his face, "Aye, I've heard of a Valor. But he's been gone for a while according to word around here. Some say he is the Dragonborn, some told me he is Talos himself. Honestly, I don't care who you are, we need good men if we are to win this war. If you care to join us. We could use you."

"Could I have your name, friend?" Valor asked.

"Vaeril, son of Titus Mede II; the Prince of Cyrodiil." The young man said, though it was without arrogance. Something that Valor respected.

"The Emperor's son?" Valor asked.

"Aye," Vaeril said, "These men are from Cyrodiil, most of them probably have no idea who you are, so don't expect them to follow you blindly. Although there are more than a few Nords around here, many that served in Skyrim. They might recognize you, but don't expect them to, got it?"

Valor could not argue with the man, he was not known to these people if they were truly from Cyrodiil. At the most they may have heard his name once, but Valor doubted that highly. He turned to Serana and then to Eleriand, both had a blank expression on their faces.

"Go and get this one a bedroll or something, he is coming with us to Riften. Perhaps he can prove more useful than half these other fools." Vaeril said, "Will these two be coming as well?"

"Aye, they both are capable fighters. I could not imagine being without them." Valor said.

"Get them some bedrolls and some supplies, it's a long ride to Riften, and we need as much help as we can get." Vaeril told the guards, who scurried out of the command tent to fulfill their leaders wish.

"Is General Tullius around here?" Valor asked.

"General Tullius is dead," Vaeril said, "Killed by the Draugr at Whiterun."

_Dead? _Valor thought, he could not fathom the fact that General Tullius was slain. Who would take his place, this boy? If this was true then Skyrim had lost a Great soldier and leader.

_Yes, he is dead…Just as you will be soon. _The voice of Hermaeus Mora rang inside the dark depths of the Dragonborn's mind. The Prince seemed to notice something was wrong, and had a confused look on his face. Valor quickly excused himself from the command tent and back outside. His head began to hurt like it did a few days ago. He shut his eyes in the pain, but it still lingered.

_Hermaeus Mora is laughing at us, you know? _Miraak's words came again. Whatever the Daedric Prince was trying to say, it would not sway Valor.

_His soul is inside you, you will become like him soon. _More voices came, and it was as if several people were speaking to him at the same time. _May he be rewarded for his service, as I am. _Valor kept his eyes shut in the pain, but while his eyes were closed, in the darkness Miraak flashed before his eyes. It was a flashback of when he was betrayed by Hermaeus Mora in the summit of Apocrypha. _His soul is inside you, you will become like him soon._

Valor tried to ignore the thoughts. He was nothing like Miraak; the first Dragonborn embodied everything evil and wrong. He was a prime example of something good fallen to evil. Valor was nothing like that, he strived for good, for what was right. Or at least that's what he told himself.

_I am not like Miraak, I am not like Miraak. _The Daedra's words were torturing him so much that he was becoming like a frightened child. But the truth was, compared to the Daedra's power he might as well be one. Serana stood next to him soon after, trying to find out what was wrong. But he could not concentrate on her right now, only the torture going on in his mind.

**Well there it is**! **For some reason I find enjoyment in putting my characters through very tough times. If I were Valor I would hate me right now.**

** REVIEW! Make sure to tell me what you thought about this chapter, all in all I enjoyed writing it. SO make sure to tell me your thoughts!**

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "Where do whores go?" –Tyrion Lannister.**


	39. Dain V

Dain

"Send them in."

"Aye, at once." Legate Fasendil answered Dain's command, the battle would be long and hard, and they needed to get it done as soon as possible.

The journey to Markarth had been long, but they had made it quicker than Dain had expected. The terrain that was native to the Reach did not allow for east travel, there was a reason why the other Legates despised conquest inside the Reach. General Tullius had stated that Markarth would have been the safest city in Skyrim during the civil war due to the state of its region. Although it seems that did not stop the Draugr.

His host had ready at the bridge closest to the stone city. Surprisingly enough to Dain, there were no Draugr in the hold itself. Outside of Markarth they had not encountered one stray Draugr. Dain assumed this meant they were all inside the city, that's what he would have done.

Outside of the city there had been no evidence of the first attack of Markarth except for the occasional burned crops. No dead bodies were anywhere in the outskirts of the city, no dropped weapons or helmets that might have been knocked off. Not even burned grass or scorched stone. It mattered not; all that was important was the battle ahead.

_We outnumber them two-to-one, we should win this. _Dain thought, if they could get the battering ram to the door and bring it down, then the city would practically be theirs. The only problem would be getting to the gate; Dain had no doubt that the Draugr would hide inside the city, raining arrows from the wall. But no matter where they would hide, the Legion would find them and end their reign of terror.

"Pikes, forward! Archers follow behind!" Legate Fasendil shouted at the top of his lungs, and the thousands and thousands of Legion soldiers heard his declaration, many answering with a battle cry and a rush forward. All of the Pike men scurried ahead, the archers followed behind. They would need someone to contend with the Draugr archers that would most likely fire from the wall.

The men rushed forward, and all of the other soldiers that were still behind slowly marched forward; they needed to stay out of arrows reach, but still needed to be close enough to march quickly on command.

The first wave of soldiers rushed forward, meeting no competition at first. But as the gate of Markarth came into view, the large doors of the stone city opened; and out came Draugr. Even from his distance Dain could see that there were more than a few that came to defend the city. They were led by a more powerful looking Draugr, whose armor covered his whole body. In its hands was a large war hammer, and he cried out something in a guttural language that Dain had thought he heard once before. _"Duaan!" _it shouted, and it was as if it breathed life into the enemy, for they began to chant. _"Krii daar Joorre!" _they bashed their weapons together, and when the soldiers grew close enough, they charged.

The pike men had done well at first, keeping the enemy at a distance successfully. The Draugr had no long or projectile weapons, so they blindly charged, many to their dooms. The archers from behind provided backup in case the pike men grew overwhelmed. For Dain it seemed the battle was having a good start, but he would not get his hopes up just yet. The Draugr were fierce creatures, they would not be defeated so easily.

All went well so far, the Legion suffered little losses; if they kept it up at this pace then the battle would be easily won. But from the wall of Markarth there were innumerous Draugr, who had just appeared in the middle of the skirmish, raining their ancient Nordic arrows upon the Legionnaires. It took them completely by surprise, resulting in many casualties. The archers soon turned their attention to the Draugr atop the wall, leaving the pike men to soon become overwhelmed with the mass of Draugr. Slowly being pushed back towards the rest of the host.

"Send in more men." Dain said.

"Swordsman, forward!" Legate Fasendil shouted, before turning to Dain, "Will you go to battle as well?"

"Not yet, let's see how it goes first." Dain replied.

The swordsman ran forward as well, leaving only Dain, the Legate, and the mounted soldiers, porters, and the archers and pike men that had stayed behind in case the first wave was a failure. Legate Dain kept an eye on the battle ahead as the majority of the host marched forward, one could hear their battle cries in the Summerset isles. It shook the air as thousands of men and even some women went to battle for Skyrim. Some were from Cyrodiil, while others had been with Tullius' original host, it did not matter. They had a common goal, to defeat the Draugr.  
As the majority of the massive Legion host met the Draugr in battle, the pike men finally received aid, and the Draugr felt this as well. The undead Nords suffering just as many, if not more losses than the Legion. Not much blood was spilt, but the sound of bone crunching against steel could be heard even from Dain's distance. It was not a horrid sound, actually it was quite pleasant, it sounded like victory. Dain only hoped the rest of the battle would be just as successful.

"Send in the battering ram." Dain said.

Legate Fasendil ordered the men, and soon a dozen soldiers rushed as fast as they could with a large battering ram in their grasp. If they could bring the gate down, then the city would be theirs. If not, then the Draugr could outlast them, even though the battle was successful out here, in the protection of the city, Markarth would defend them. Dain's only hope was that Markarth's weak wall would prove to serve in his favor.

While the battering ram was still on its way, Dain could see that the battle was turning into an every man for himself skirmish. There was no longer any organization, leaving Dain clueless as to who was on the winning side, all though he had his assumption, they were not fact. He kept watch as Man faced Draugr, the outcome clueless. It was then that Dain saw the leader of the host was still alive, swinging back and forth with its mace, felling many soldiers. But that was not the Draugr's only weapon; it also wielded the power of the arcane, sending a flurry of lightning bolts on the Legion. The flash paining Dain's eyes as the crack of lightning sent one man flying. Nobody dared challenge the Draugr, so it continued to deal death without challenge.

Finally the men carrying the battering ram made their way to the skirmish; it was then that Dain realized the stupidity of his decision. How were the men supposed to get to the gate with the battle going on? There was no clear path for a group going that small to go without being killed. _It's too late now; let's just hope they can make it through somehow. _

The battle had turned into two, one between the Legion archers and the archers on the wall, and the other between the Draugr outside Markarth and the Imperial Legionnaires. While Dain assumed that the battle of swords was going well, the archers did not fare as greatly. Dain watched as several were pierced in the chest or other parts, some even hit in the head. Meanwhile the Legion archers were failing at bringing down the majority of the Draugr atop the walls_. Perhaps Markarth's wall was not as weak as everyone thought?_

But eventually it was as if victory was near, the Draugr's numbers continued to decrease until they were seriously overwhelmed. But the Draugr did not back down, they continued to fight even when defeat was imminent. The soldiers seemed to have hope in their hearts, for Dain could see that they fought with a new fire that was absent before. But they were not breaking the last of the Draugr, who led by their leader stayed put.

"Send everyone in." Dain said.

"Will you ride as well?" Legate Fasendil asked.

"Aye, it's time to end this."

"Forward!" the Legate shouted, and Dain rode with the mounted riders onto the scene. He had kept the mounted soldiers back in case the battle was growing ill and they needed extra help; but it seemed as if the battle could be won. Legate Fasendil rose by him, as they approached the battle.

Dain readied his war axe, raising it high and gathering his strength, only to heave it down, attempting to take a Draugr's head with it. He succeeded, and rode down several more of the undead. Arrows flew past him as he took part in the heart of the battle. The mounted riders seemed to provide the last boost needed to overcome the enemy, and Dain rode forward fiercely and readied for one more strike aimed toward the Draugr leader; who didn't even know of his presence. He brought it down harder than he ever had in his entire life, and felt the axe crash into the Draugr's skull. He did not need to look behind him; he knew he had dealt the killing blow.

The Draugr that were left seemed to lose faith after their leader was killed, and soon with the aid of the mounted riders, all of the Draugr outside the city walls were soon defeated. A few tried to scurry away, but a quick hit with a sword ended that.

"Bring the gate down!" Dain shouted, soon realizing that the men carrying the battering ram still survived. They had to rush, or else they would be hit by the Draugr's arrows. The Legionnaire archers kept on trying to keep them at bay, but the Draugr were too small a target behind the stone wall. Dain made sure to head right next to the gate, getting out of arrows reach. He Dis-mounted from his horse, as it would serve no purpose inside the city of stone. There were too many stairs and the structure of the city was not meant for horses. Soon enough the battering ram made its way to the gate, the men pulling it back only to thrust it forward with all their strength. The first time didn't do it, Dain had expected as much. I took several tries to bring down a gate, especially one of Dwarven make. "Heave!" the men shouted as they battered against the gate once again. Still more arrows rained down from the walls, they would need to finish this quickly or else suffer needless deaths. "Heave!" they shouted again, and then again, and again, until one last time they shouted, and brought down the gate with one last swing. The crack as the gate opened hurt Dain's ears, but he ignored it as the soldiers stormed inside the city.

There were a number of Draugr inside the city, but nowhere near as much as there had been outside. The soldiers had split into two groups, one going to the left side where Cidhna Mine was, and the other going to the right side where most of the homes were. The undead Nords met the soldiers with the clash of steel, but the hearts of the soldiers longed too much for victory. And no matter how much the Draugr fought back, they could not withstand the sheer numbers and willpower the Legionnaires possessed. To long have these creatures prowled the lands of Skyrim killing at will; the Imperial Legion would take revenge for what was stolen from them.

Dain had led the foray, "To Understone Keep! Bring the battering ram!" Sure enough they did, and the soldiers rushed up the stairs. Dain did not tire, he had waited long to get back at the Draugr for the suffering he and his men went through at Fort Greymour. Now was the perfect time. The battering ram came faster than normal, as the men carrying it ran as fast as they could while carrying the large object. They met at the gate, and the men battered this ram just as they did the last one. It took a few tries, but eventually the inside of the Jarl's keep was imminent.

Inside there were not many Draugr at first, so they were easily killed. But as Dain and the men went farther inward they saw more and more Draugr standing completely still, keeping their position. The soldier rushed forward, receiving no command from Dain to do so. He did not mind, he would let them have their last moment of glory, they could not lose this battle now anyways.

There were only around fifty or so Draugr left inside the keep, they fought fiercer then the ones outside; leading Dain to believe these Draugr were more important or were the true leaders. It mattered not; they still fell down as quickly as the others if you put a sword in their heads. Dain lagged behind, he did not want to risk death just to kill these last Draugr.

The last sound of steel on steel was heard as the final Draugr that tried to flee met their true death inside the walls of Markarth. The men cried out in joy, knowing the battle was won. Dain knew not how it went for the rest of the soldiers in the city, but whatever was happening, he knew the battle was won. The Reach had been won. He wondered how the Prince faired in his battles, whether he had got to Windhelm in time.

"Enjoy the battle, eh Dain?" Legate Fasendil asked him shortly after.

"No, I never enjoy battle, too much danger. But victory? Aye, I enjoy victory."

**There it is! I hope you guys liked it, and I hope you're glad that Dain won!**

** Anyways, it's too late and I can't find a quote, so have a good day!**


	40. Gweryan III

Gweryan

The College of Winterhold was filled with the civilians from the town of the same name. Both the Jarl of Winterhold and of Dawnstar has not returned, and many of the people of the College were unaware of what was going on, Gweryan included.

He stood along with most of the teachers from the College on the bridge, the students were told to stay inside. The danger was still unknown to them; perhaps a dragon had been sighted. Or maybe the Stormcloaks were coming to reclaim what was theirs. Gweryan had no clue, he asked the Arch-Mage if he knew what was going on, but he was just as clueless as Gweryan.

All of the guards had come to the College as well, led by a Legionnaire named Mychael. Gweryan had never met the man, but he seemed to know what he was doing and Gweryan would not interfere. Winterhold had only ten or so guards in the whole city since they had given the few Legionnaires they had to General Tullius. So if it came to battle, Winterhold already was at a disadvantage.

"Look, over there!" Phinis Gestor shouted, pointing to the distance. Gweryan turned his head to the outskirts of Winterhold. Around from the mountain there was a rider, it took a while before Gweryan could identify the person as the Jarl of Dawnstar. Two arrows protruded out of her back, and she looked as if she was about to fall off her horse. Her horse took her to the bridge leading to the College, where she approached soon after. Her horse almost slipped and fell once, but she made it safely. The horse stopped running when it was directly in front of the teachers and scholars. The Jarl tumbled off her saddle that moment, and she coughed in pain.

"Somebody help her!" Arniel Gane shouted.

Savos Aren rushed forward, kneeling down to face the Jarl of Dawnstar. The teachers approached her as well, crowding over her to see what damage she had taken.

"Somebody get her inside!" Tolfdir said.

"Urag!" Savos shouted, "Get her inside, have the healers take care of her/"

The Orc mage rushed forward, and grabbed the Jarl of Dawnstar, carrying her back to the Hall of the Elements. She muttered a few words as they took her away, Gweryan could not understand most, but he knew three words, "They are coming."

Gweryan knew not of what she was speaking of, but he did notice that the arrows she was hit with looked old and rusted. As if they were about to snap and break if he touched them, they seemed almost ancient. When the doors to the College opened and Urag carried the Jarl inside, that was the last he saw of them for some time.

The guards that were with the teachers seemed stirred, the Jarl of Winterhold had not returned. One could only assume that he and everyone else that went were killed. It seemed to Gweryan as if the guards knew what was coming, because Gweryan heard the word "Draugr" mentioned several times.

"It seems they have arrived." Gweryan heard Savos Aren say.

Gweryan saw small figures appear from where the Jarl had ridden from. Many different types of weapons in their hands, and Gweryan knew that they were indeed Draugr. And the more he looked he noticed that several were carrying the body of Jarl Kraldar, around five arrows in his chest. They seemed to parade their victory, and tossed the Jarl's corpse onto the ground. It even seemed as if they laughed. Gweryan was horrified, as were everyone else that saw this travesty. Even the Mages, who had no love for the Nords of Winterhold seemed outraged.

The Draugr stayed there for a little while, staring down the empty village, not realizing that everyone was in the College. The torches that were in their hands were flung at the wooden homes, several summoning their magic and setting them ablaze with a fire spell. Gweryan could not count how many there were, but he knew that they definitely outnumbered the mages and guards at Winterhold.

Suddenly, the Draugr rushed forward; ignoring everything except the College. "Get ready!" Savos Aren shouted, signaling for the mages to ready any spells at their disposal. The Legionnaire Mychael shouted as well, "Ready arrows!" he said, and the whole party waited for battle. Gweryan himself summoned his energy and readied the lightning bolt spell. He would kill as many Draugr as he would need to.

The Draugr rushed onto the bridge, only a few could pass at a time due to how thin it was. Additionally the bridge had suffered damage due to the Great collapse, which meant that certain parts were wide open. Meaning anyone who was not careful could slip and plummet to their deaths. This was perhaps Winterhold's only advantage, so they hoped they could hold the Draugr at bay.

"Now!" Savos shouted, and with a flash all of the mages cast their spells. Lightning, fire, and ice shot out from their palms, sending Draugr flying. Gweryan himself sent his lightning at the enemy, and with a crack one of the Draugr felt the power of a mage from the College of Winterhold. "Loose!" the Legionnaire Mychael shouted, and arrows joined in the fray. The guards did their best to help in the battle, and for now the bridge was being held successfully. Only so many Draugr could pass through at a time, so it felt like a chain to Gweryan. One would die and then another. Over and over it went, and still he sent his lightning forward.

Magic and fire met the dead Draugr, sending many back and blowing them away. Others managed to get by the forces of the arcane, but they were brought down by the arrows of the guards. It seemed as if the College could be held, or at least until the mages Magicka runs out and they grow too tired to fight any longer.

So far that moment had not come, and still they fought. The Draugr gaining no further ground then they did before. But the battle was not won; more and more of the undead Nords came when one fell.

And endless army of Draugr kept on coming, the mages could not keep this up for much longer. Gweryan already felt his body begin to fatigue; he was running low on Magicka. Soon he would be too tired to fight any longer. Some of the other mages seemed to be suffering the same thing, such as Tolfdir and Phinis, who did not specialize in destruction and had little training in the subject. Others like Faralda and Savos showed no sign of stopping, as they had more energy to cast their spells.

As more and more Draugr came, more and more mages stopped firing destruction spells. Mirabelle Ervine was already sitting down, breathing heavily. Others stopped as well, and the Draugr began to advance very slowly. Gaining more and more ground upon the bridge. Although the guards continued to rain down arrows upon the enemy, there were not enough guards to stop them. And when the Draugr aligned their archer, there seemed to be little hope for Winterhold. Ancient Nordic arrows fell down near the group, and a few of the guards were already killed or injured. The mages retaliated, trying to hit the archers. They succeeded with some, while other managed to evade the attacks. Gweryan saw as one arrow landed in the Arch-Mage's leg, causing him to fall to one knee in pain. Arniel Gane dragged him away, taking him away from arrows reach.

"Phinis, now!" Faralda shouted as she cast fire spells, trying to keep as many Draugr away from the entrance as possible.

"Aye!" the man said, and Gweryan saw him summon whatever Magicka the conjurer had left, and cast the spell directly in front of him. From the darkest depths of Oblivion came five Dremora Lords, each with a long Daedric greatsword. Their armor was full of spikes, and practically symbolized the darkest evil. They did not say anything; only ready their greatswords and charge towards the bridge. Gweryan saw as they met the Draugr at the bridge, each swinging their large Daedric weapon, arrows hit them but it was as if they did not care. It was almost like the Daedra did not feel the pain from the Draugr, or at least ignored it. They continued to slay as many of the undead as they saw. Gweryan turned to see Phinis on the ground, all the energy drained form him.

_Arianna never saw the fall of Winterhold, _Gweryan thought; he was sure that if they were to be defeated that the little girl would have foreseen it in one of her visions. That was his only comfort.

Eventually the Dremora had all been defeated; they were not invincible after all. He saw as their bodies were transported back to Oblivion, and the Draugr rushed forward once more. Few mages had enough Magicka to fight; Faralda, Gweryan, and Arniel Gane were the only ones left. Gweryan could feel his energy draining with every spell; he would not last much longer. Only a few guards remained, although the Legionnaire Mychael was uninjured. Several bodies of the guards were on the snowy ground in the College. And the closer the Draugr got, the more he could imagine himself there among them.

More arrows came, and Gweryan saw as Faralda was hit in the stomach by one. She fell to the ground immediately, leaving only Gweryan, the guards, and Arniel Gane still fighting. The Draugr were almost at the College, and it was at that time that Savos Aren shouted, "Back to the College! To the Hall of the Elements!"

Everyone ran for it, some of the mages taking their time due to being exhausted. The guards launched their last arrows and then ran back to the College. Gweryan started to run, but saw as Faralda lay on the ground, an arrow still in her stomach. He rushed forward with what little time he had and summoned all of the strength he had left to pick the Altmer up. Running towards the door, he could hear the Draugr behind him but did not look back until he found himself in the protection of the College of Winterhold. He set Faralda down lightly on the cold floor.

The guards that remained rushed to keep the door shut, making sure that the Draugr did not bring the doors down. It was their last defense, and they could not afford to give it up. Gweryan sat down, the Legionnaire Mychael not far away.

"You there," Mychael said, "I saw what you did, bringing the woman with you. You're a good person, for what it's worth."

"Perhaps," Gweryan replied, "Do you think we can win, soldier?"

"No, I don't think we can win. You mages were the last hope for Winterhold, some of the strongest people in Skyrim. We won't win, but that doesn't mean we can't fight."

**So this was part 1 of the battle at Winterhold. I hope you guys enjoyed it or at least found it bearable to read!**

** School starts Monday for me, so I am freaking out, since it will be my first day of High School, wish me luck!**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Have you seen a highborn maid with auburn hair?" –Brienne, the Maid of Tarth, wielder of Oathkeeper, 'Bane' of Renly, and Jaime's wench. **


	41. Mychael VI

Mychael

The doors to the College of Winterhold were being rammed into Oblivion. He did not remember seeing a battering ram among the Draugr when they were trying to hold the bridge, but apparently he was wrong. Perhaps with all the arrows coming towards him stopped him from worrying about a battering ram and worry more about surviving the battle.

There were five guards that survived; most of the mages had lived, although the High Elf woman who had got hit by an arrow in the stomach did not look like she was doing well. The Arch-Mage had suffered minor injuries, such as an arrow in the leg. But all in all it was the guards that suffered, Mychael thought they could have held the bridge longer; but perhaps he was wrong about that as well.

Several men and women went to keep the door closed, pressing their bodies against them and using all the strength they had left in order to keep them shut. Mychael knew better, it was only a matter of time before they stormed the College and killed everyone inside. Mychael was not going to lie to himself or anyone else; they were going to die in here, but not without a fight.

_I'll give it five minutes before that gate falls, _Mychael thought to himself as he rested on the floor. It was hard and cold, very uncomfortable. But he was so tired and exhausted that it did not matter, he did not have the energy to rise and find a chair. The Wood Elf mage that had saved the high elf sat next to him, he seemed tired as well. Mychael had heard that overcasting spells beyond your limits drains energy.

"The gate will be down soon," Mychael said, "We should find somewhere safe to go."

"If we abandon the gate then it will go down as soon as we leave it unattended." The elf said.

"It's going to go down anyway. Mychael said.

"Might as well prolong the time we have in here then," the elf said, "Living a little longer is always a good thing."

"Aye, you might be right." Mychael said, he soon realized the stupidity of what he had proposed. If they left the gate unattended, then it would only bring their deaths sooner, although some might want that, Mychael did not.

"Where are you from, soldier?" the elf asked.

"Whiterun, and the name's Mychael."

"Aye, I'm Gweryan, I hail from Cyrodiil."

"Why did you ask?" Mychael said.

"A person's last thoughts should be of home."

Mychael had heard those words once from Legate Rikke. It seemed a common phrase among Nords, so Mychael had no idea how Gweryan knew of it. Perhaps he had been in Skyrim longer than he seemed. Although Mychael doubted that he received much love up here in the north, the most hateful Nords resided here.

Another bang came to the door, this one with more force. Several of the mages and guards that kept it shut were knocked back, Mychael just watched as they tried to rise. More ramming came to the door, and Mychael heard a slight crack. _It's going to open any minute. _He thought, getting back on his feet slowly. He unsheathed his blade, battle was coming, and he was ready for it.

Another bang came onto the door, and then another, until an even louder crack was heard, "Everyone stand back and get ready for battle!" Mychael shouted, the wood elf called Gweryan gave him a stare before picking the High elf woman back up again, rushing into the library. Mychael knew he was putting her somewhere safe, if anywhere here could be considered safe.

The guards that remained and the mages stepped back, readying whatever weapon they had at their disposal. Mychael and the Arch-Mage were at the head, and Mychael noticed the Arch-Mage's leg looked healed. He turned back to the door, as one last ram came about and the doors were rammed open.

They came in force, a dozen entering at one time. The mages held the first wave back with their magic, but soon enough Draugr entered to fill the whole Hall of the Elements. Mychael was not afraid to take a strike at any Draugr he could find, some were easier to kill than others, as most were unaware of his presence. The guards joined him in battle, providing him with support as they fought almost as a group. The mages gave help from behind, even conjuring some creatures from Oblivion such as Dremora, and flame Atronachs. Phinis even resurrected some of the Draugr. From what Mychael saw none of the guards had fallen yet, which was a relief. He cut more Draugr down, swinging his sword in as many directions as he possibly could.

But the men tired, and eventually more and more of the small amount of guards were killed. Soon enough only two remained with him, and Mychael found himself and the mages being pushed back to the gate. He saw as Arniel Gane was struck down by a Draugr with a blow to the head. Mirabelle Ervine suffered a series of stabs from another Draugr. Mychael did all that he could and dashed for the library, shouting, "Inside, hurry!" the others followed, shutting the door quickly, two of the College teachers staying back to keep it shut.

When Mychael came to the library, he saw all of the citizens who had been evacuated from their homes and brought inside the College. He saw Jarl Brina being attended to by some of the healers, he saw Gweryan next to the High Elf woman who was also being treated. He saw Ysolda gave him a stare, with a worried look on her face. He had no true reply for her.

"What do we do now?" Savos Aren asked, "We can't get out."

"We need to get the citizens to the higher levels of the College." Mychael replied.

"The highest level is the top of the College, but it is outside. They will be killed by their archers." Savos said.

"If they can keep out of sight then the archers won't know of their presence and wont fire at them."

"I see no other way," Savos Aren said.

"Everyone go outside, keep low and make sure you make no noise!" Mychael shouted. The citizens seemed reluctant at first, but soon a few started walking towards the exit, and then they all went. Ysolda gave Mychael one last look before moving on, Mychael almost said something, but stopped when he heard a great crack coming from the door.

He heard two voices yelling, and the footsteps of Draugr rushing inside the library, the citizens rushed outside, and Mychael went with them, ordering the two guards and mages to come with him. Mychael had no authority over the teachers, but they obeyed him without question anyways.

When they emerged to the top of the College, Mychael heard the voices of several people; they seemed to be jumping with joy. Mychael had never seen people so happy; Mychael looked to see what they were happy about, and couldn't help but jump up in his happiness himself.

An army of Legionnaires were coming to the village. Their arrows seemed to bring down waves and waves of Draugr, Mychael watched as the Draugr and the soldiers met in the field of battle. Swords clashing and screams could be heard even from atop the College. The Draugr that were in the main courtyard of the College soon went back down the bridge, going to fight the Imperial Legion soldiers. But the Draugr that stormed up the College did no such thing, and as a few dozen made their way up the College everyone backed up. Mychael and the few remaining mages and guards stepped forward though, not afraid to exterminate the last of them. They wasted no time, the mages launching as much destruction as possible, and Mychael saw as the elf Gweryan sent a bolt of lightning at a Draugr that was headed directly for Mychael.

He sliced at any undead he could find, not fearing any Draugr. There were not as many as Mychael remembered in the Hall of Elements, so he assumed that they all went down the bridge to help the main host. Mychael felt a sting in his shoulder as he was slightly cut by a blade; he grasped it in pain, but did not shy away. He stabbed forward at the Draugr who had done this, piercing straight through its stomach.

Meanwhile, the Imperial Legion had done a deadly blow against the Draugr at Winterhold, killing almost half. More arrows fell down, and more of the undead fell never to rise again. The Draugr tried to strike back, but they were easily negated, and were slowly being defeated. It was as if the soldiers had lost their fear of the Draugr, instead remembering what they were fighting for. Mychael had a chance to watch after they had finished off the last of the Draugr on the roof of the College. After a while, it seemed as if the Draugr were trying to find some way to escape, but there was none. They would not venture into the sea, so the Legion finished them off. Showing no mercy, just like the undead Nords. Eventually the rest of the Draugr were defeated, none had escaped.

Mychael could not help but remember Whiterun, and then when Legate Hrollod's camp was attacked and destroyed in the Pale. He had felt the taste of victory today, and Mychael could not help but feel as if he evaded death once again.

**Alright, I know it's not much but I felt it was only right to upload a chapter today. Since I imagine they will be coming less often than usual once school starts on Monday…: (**

** Anyways, i hope you liked it at least, even though it was probably boring as nobody important died…I know right? i am really lagging on killing these POV's aren't i? Maybe I should have another canon purge? Or maybe a…OC purge! Dun dun dun!**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "They say I'm half a man, but what does that make the lot of you?" Tyrion Lannister, the cool short dude in that one song they wrote about…snow and…ember I think?**


	42. Valor III

Valor

He didn't dream of Miraak, or of the tentacles constricting him this night. Only of the Dragon Priest that wanted to kill him.

Valor was before the shrine of the Dragon Priests inside Labyrinthian, he had been there a few times before. But something was different; he saw that all of the masks of the other Dragon Priests were on their bust. Then the Dragon Priest Konharik took off his mask, and set it upon the final bust, and it was as if energy came from them, the other masks disappeared, as if they disintegrated. But the final mask known as Konahrik did not, and it began to shine brightly, until the Dragon Priest took back his mask. He turned to Valor who was simply watching, "May he be rewarded for his service, as I am." He said, and Valor's whole body began to feel cold, causing him to shiver.

But that was not all, the Dragon Priest approached the Last Dragonborn and took off his mask, Valor could not see his face, all he could see was the mask approaching his face. He could not move as if he was paralyzed. Finally when the mask was on his face, he saw many visions.

He saw Serana, she looked to him with a disgusted look on her face, and Valor soon noticed that there was a dagger in her back. She got up as if she felt no pain, and took the dagger out of her back, and stabbed the Dragonborn with it.

_May he be rewarded for his service, as I am._

Then Valor saw a great fortress built by the ancients. Valor thought it looked very familiar. Two armies came from opposite sides and broke against the walls, being repelled like water on rock. Valor could not identify any of them, except when he saw himself, running in the middle of the fortress, a wooden mask on his face.

The Dragon Priest then removed the mask from Valor's face, and then the Dragonborn saw the Priest's face for the first time, and was completely shocked by what he saw.

He saw himself.

The Priest laughed and drew his blade; Valor went to reach for his sword belt but then noticed it was missing. Although Konahrik's blade was there, it looked different than most swords, and seemed to be forged from Dragon Bone. His sword pierced Valor right through the chest, the Dragonborn felt a searing pain; he looked down at the weapon and saw that it was drawing something from Valor's body. Valor soon noticed that it was taking his soul.

_May he be rewarded for his service, as I am._

* * *

He awoke just as he did after every night, sweating like a pig. His body had an uncomfortable chill, although Valor's head no longer hurt; something finally good had happened since he was found at Apocrypha.

His arms were wrapped around Serana, who slept soundly right beside him. He withdrew them slowly, not wanting to wake her, and stood up, getting out of the bedroll. The tent they were inside was small, but it was enough to where Valor could walk without his head hitting the top. He slowly walked outside, he was awake now, he would not be able to go back to sleep. He didn't want to.

The camp was mostly silent, they were a few hours away from Riften, and the Prince wanted his soldiers to rest before the battle. Valor didn't think that was the right choice though, they needed to get to Riften as soon as possible in order to help the city. But the Prince did not listen to Valor's council. He never did.

Prince Vaeril of Cyrodiil had come to accept Valor as the Dragonborn after a few of his soldiers had spoken with him about it. He treated Valor with a newfound respect afterwards, unlike before. Although he still did not heed the Dragonborn s council, Valor told him it was unwise to leave Riften without aid for another day, but he would not listen. Valor had also told him to take the eastern route, which would get them to Riften quicker, but Vaeril decided to take the council of his other Legates than that of the Dragonborn's.

Valor decided he would see what the Prince was up too; it would be wise to talk of battle and strategy before the hour came when they must get to Riften. Valor had nothing else to do after all, he would not wake Serana or Eleriand, for they needed the rest. He made his way to the center of the camp, it was not very busy. The only people that were awake were the guards that kept watch during the night; all the other soldiers were soundly asleep. But Valor knew Vaeril was awake, he usually was, always spending time studying the map of Skyrim.

When the Dragonborn of legend finally reached the command tent, he quickly opened the flap that lead inside. He could not hear any voices from the outside, so he assumed that there was either nobody or just Vaeril inside. He soon realized it was the latter when he saw the Prince of Cyrodiil calmly sitting in a chair, a candle nearby as he was staring at the same map of Skyrim that he was every day.

"Legate," he acknowledged the Dragonborn's presence and rank.

"My lord," Valor replied, "Still awake? I figured you would want some rest."

"I don't get much rest lately…" Vaeril said as his mood seemed to darken. The Prince was always in a depressed and serious mood of late, when Valor had first met him and the little while after he had a happier mood.

The Dragonborn sat in the chair across from the Prince. Vaeril didn't ask him too, Valor just did it anyways. He would not waste time politely asking If he could sit, he did not need to ask. Vaeril did not seem to mind, and went back to studying the map.

Valor and the Prince sat in silence, Valor didn't say anything, he just thought to himself. He began to grow bored soon after, he was the type of person that needed something to do that second, or else he would grow restless.

Then Vaeril put the map back down on the table, he stared at Valor, then began to look around the tent as if he was looking for something to do.

"The woman…do you love her?" Vaeril suddenly asked, Valor was surprised; he had never brought up Serana in the short time they had known each other.

"Aye." Valor simply stated, "Why?"

"It's good to love something, gives you a reason to continue living…" The Prince said, a darker mood coming from him. Valor could tell that Vaeril was extremely tired; it must have been a long time since he had last slept.

"Is there someone who you love, my lord?" Valor asked, trying to bring up a conversation.

"Aside from my father, no." the Prince answered.

Valor simply nodded, he didn't want to spark an awkward conversation on the past. Valor had learned from experience that talk of the past often lead to some awkward conversations. People could be judgmental, which is why Valor never told anyone of what happened in his life.

_Except for Alianor, I told her everything. _Valor thought, Alianor had been very special to him back in the day. Often he thought he still loved her, which caused him to feel bad. He had killed her himself, that he could never forget.

"Does she make you happy?" Vaeril asked, "The woman?"

"Yes," Valor replied, "She does."

"Good, gives you something to fight for."

"What do you fight for, my lord?" Valor asked.

The Prince's mood seemed to darken even further than before, his eye lids seemed to be dropping very slowly. Valor could tell it had been a _very_ long time since he had received any rest. Valor knew the feeling, often he had been without rest as well.

"The Empire," Vaeril said, "And my sister."

Valor would not ask who his sister was, but Valor could tell by the way he was speaking of her that she was no longer living. Valor would not ask, it was hard for people to speak of their lost loved ones.

"You should go back to sleep, Legate; we have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow, and a battle as well."

"I think I can manage," Valor replied, he did not want to go back to sleep. He feared what terrible images from the Daedric Prince he would see.

"Whatever is your choice, I am going to try to get some sleep." The Prince said, rising from his chair, "Have a good night, Legate; get some rest, and be ready for battle tomorrow."

Valor watched as the Prince left the command tent, leaving Valor in his solitude. He hoped the Prince got some rest, because he looked terrible and out of energy. No man could fight without sleep; it is a kiss of death.

But Valor did not go back to his tent, nor did he wander off, he stayed there in the command tent. He had nothing else to do, there was nobody to speak to, no enemy to defeat. Nothing, except the thoughts inside his mind.

_We ride tomorrow, and then I will see the truth of this invasion. _Valor did not fear the Draugr; he had fought at least a thousand since his time in Skyrim. But for some reason he feared the Dragon Priest that was in his dreams, the one he was destined to fight. His who's sword seemed to rip the soul from his enemies. Valor had defeated Miraak, Alduin, and Harkon; all who were formidable opponents. But this one was different, this time Valor was not sure he would win. He hoped he was wrong. He prayed he was wrong.

**Okay, I realize that this chapter was not amazing and deserves to be embedded in the FF hall of fame, but for the most part I enjoyed writing it. And as always I enjoy writing those dream scenes, although I am sure you guys are probably getting tired of hearing "May he be rewarded for his service, as I am." Over and over.**

** Tell me what you thought, whether you just want me to just magically kill Konahrik and get this over with, or you genuinely enjoyed it.**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Fear cuts deeper than swords." –Arya Stark.**


	43. Eleriand VIII

Eleriand

Riften was surrounded by the sea of undead.

Fire came from the smaller building such as farms and stables that were not protected by the city walls. Eleriand stood next to Valor, who gave him a quick look before turning his attention to the massacre before them. Riften was still intact for the most part, and the Draugr had failed to get inside the city. The attack would have to be swift if the Legion would conquer.

Eleriand was not a member of the Legion, but he had been asked to fight by Valor himself. Eleriand would do what he must if it was to save Skyrim. He would not allow the Draugr to terrorize these lands any farther. He had gone through hell to find the Dragonborn after all, it would be best if he made sure he stayed alive.

Arrows were exchanged between the Draugr and the defenders of Riften. The Imperial host had been too far away to be hit by arrows just yet, so the Prince took his time addressing his men, shouting, "Swords!" as he paced back and forth atop his mount.

Eleriand was at the front lines with the Dragonborn, along with several of the Legates. Serana had stayed behind, although she did not want to; Valor had convinced her otherwise. Eleriand thought it was for the best, Serana had never been at one of these large scale battles; she lacked experience. The lack of experience could get you killed in this situation, plus Eleriand did not know what Valor would do if Serana was killed. He did not want to think about that.

When the Prince shouted, "Swords!" for the second time, Eleriand found it necessary to draw his own; the sound of steel ringing, perhaps they heard it even from Riften, because they began to cheer as if they did not notice them before.

"Stay close to me." Valor told Eleriand quietly.

"Of course." Eleriand responded, he would be safest if fighting by the Dragonborn after all.

"Ready!" Vaeril shouted, and then finally, "Forward!"

The soldiers rode forward, nothing would ruin their determination. Eleriand tried to keep up with them as the whole host sprinted forward as fast as they could. It seemed as if the Draugr had been expecting them, for they had already aligned some of their archers and let loose many arrows at the host. Luckily Eleriand was not hit, but several soldiers nearby were, falling down only to be trampled upon by their own comrades, running to hard and fast to stop when they fell.

More arrows came, and more Legionnaires fell never to rise again. But Eleriand still went forward, his steed running harder and harder with much determination. Valor was near him, and Eleriand briefly looked into the Dragonborn's eyes. Filled with hate and eagerness, as if he was craving battle, and wanted desperately to kill as many Draugr as he could find. Eleriand got the same sense from the Prince; perhaps they had more in common than he initially thought.

The two armies eventually crashed, relieving Riften from the majority of the battle. Eleriand swung down with his blade; he missed his first few strokes but soon got better as he continued. The Draugr did not fear them though, each fighting just as they did anyone else. Eleriand saw as several soldiers were cut down from atop their horses, falling to become the prey of the undead.

The archers from atop the walls helped aid the Legion fight the Draugr, piercing a few of the Draugr that would have killed another rider. It did not help very much, but any help was needed. Eleriand had almost been hit by one of their arrows, it speeding right past his face to hit the ground, missing its target.

Most of the Legionnaires had now become separated, the army lacking form. Eleriand was still next to the Dragonborn, who was chopping down Draugr with ease. Eleriand could not do the same, finding it difficult to even bring down one from atop his mount. He preferred to meet his enemy on leveled ground, not high in the air.

Although eventually his wish came true, as one of the Draugr swung its battle-axe straight at Eleriand's horse. They both tumbled, and the elf found himself lying on the ground a few feet away from his steed. He tried to get up quickly when he saw the Draugr running towards him, but Eleriand could not rise fast enough. He looked around for his sword and reached for it, but he could not grab it in time. The undead Nord brought down his axe, but it was caught by a blade.

The Dragonborn had come to save Eleriand in his moment of need. Valor quickly kicked the Draugr back, giving his a good amount of space to fight. Eleriand watched from the ground, as the Dragonborn of legend fought the dead Nords of old.

The steel sword moved with a flash, and the Draugr stumbled back, injured. The Dragonborn wasted no time, slightly leaping forward in order to end the battle quickly; stabbing his foe through the head with his blade. Eleriand got back on his feet, the sword in his hand. Valor gave him a nod before resuming the fight, making short work of the other foes nearby.

_He has saved my life again. _Eleriand thought before returning to his senses and resuming the battle. This would be no easy victory; he would need to do anything that he could to end this battle as quickly as possible.

The battle continued, most of the fight happening before the gate leading to Riften. The archers atop the walls had provided some help, but most had left and joined the battle outside for reasons unknown. Eleriand fought from the ground, doing much more than he was atop his horse. He was proud to think that he had cut down at least four Draugr, but he had probably miscounted during the heat of the battle. Still, it seemed as if the Legion would prove victorious in this fight, as the odds seemed to weigh heavily in the Imperial's favor.

But just as Eleriand thought that a roar came from the skies, Eleriand along with many other soldiers turned their attention to the clouds. The vague shape could be seen getting closer and closer, and it did not take much intelligence to know that a dragon was approaching. Its head was covered in spikes, and its scales were the color of leaves. It let out another roar, speaking in its foul language. Eleriand understood none of it, and did not waste his time trying; he continued to battle the Draugr, but the dragon was doing deadly damage to his fellow comrades. Burning some and grabbing others.

"Aim for its head!" Prince Vaeril shouted, still atop his steed. His archers did not hesitate to obey, firing as many arrows as they could. Many missed the target greatly, while others managed to land in either the leg or the tail. Still, the dragon seemed unharmed, and Eleriand even sore that it was speaking in the common language.

"Lord Konahrik has known of your arrival, Dovahkiin; and your death has been requested." The beast said while in the air before landing right in front of the Dragonborn. Eleriand just stood and watched, as did some others who were not currently in battle. Although Valor did not back up, nor did he look to have fear in his eyes. The dragon stared him down, and a battle was coming.

"I will dispose of you with honor, Dovahkiin; as I would with any Dovah." The scaled creature spoke before lunging forward, snapping at the Dragonborn. Valor did not reply to the dragons words; he simply jumped backwards when the dragon made its first move.

The dragon wasted no time, and released dragonfire from its mouth. Eleriand was temporarily blinded by the brightness of the flames; but he did see that the Dragonborn looked unharmed. And then he understood when he saw the ward spell that Valor had cast. Valor quickly did what he must, and summoned the power of his kin, and shouted.

"Fus. Ro. Da!" the Dragonborn shouted, and a great force erupted from his mouth, causing the dragon to stagger back. He rushed forward, his blade ready to strike, and he swung upward, catching the dragon at its neck. Soon afterward he took a few steps and grabbed one of the spikes along the dragons back, leaping upward and on top of the great beast. The dragon thrashed around, trying to shake Valor off, but he held on. Carefully going forward and approaching the dragon's head. He raised his blade and brought it down, and bore his sword downward and into the dragon. It let out one last roar before its lifeless body tumbled downward, and Valor leaped off the dragon.

When he was back on the ground, Valor eyes seemed to skim the battle. Eleriand's eyes were solely on the dead dragon, he had seen several during his journeys with the Dragonborn, and every time they seemed to trouble him. They were the most powerful creatures in Tamriel, and Valor was practically one of them. Maybe not in body, but in spirit.

Eleriand did not partake in the battle; instead he chose to watch as Valor began the process of absorbing the dragon's soul. Nothing happened at first, but it did not take long for the body to begin burning away, leaving nothing but bones. And energy came from it, and Eleriand watched as it traveled from the dragon to the Dragonborn, and when it was all over, Eleriand knew that the Valor had been gifted with more power than he already had possessed. Always growing stronger, always preparing for his next battle, every time he slayed a dragon he was even more ready for the next one.

The battle around had gone well, once the dragon had been killed then the Draugr seemed to fight less fiercely. The Imperial Legion made short work of them, and with the Prince's leadership they were taking the tide of the battle. It did not take much for one to predict who would win this fight.

When the battle was finally over, and the last of the Draugr had been killed, the outskirts of Riften smelled of death. Eleriand had suffered very little injuries, although he saw some of the other soldiers had various cuts, gashes, and even missing limbs. He felt bad for them; the battle had been hard on them.

Eleriand met Valor in the middle of the battlefield; he had been speaking with the Prince before he arrived. Although when Eleriand came forward the Prince left the conversation, headed inside the city to speak with the survivors.

"Enjoy the battle?" Eleriand asked.

"Battle is never fun, unless you're fighting Stormcloaks. That's always fun." Valor replied.

"Any idea what happens next?" Eleriand asked.

"It's simple, someone has requested our help, an old acquaintance."

"Who?" Eleriand asked.

"Isran, from the Dawnguard."

**I finally made a new chapter! Its been an ordeal writing this with school, basketball practice, the FREAKING GEOMETRY HOMEWORK!**

**I am really sorry if you guys were getting frustrated due to me not updating, I feel terrible and I hope that this chapter was at least decent.**

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "The night is dark and full of turnips." –Pyp. **


	44. Rikke II

Rikke

"Labyrinthian, that's where they are?" Rikke asked.

"Aye ma'am," the courier told her, "scouts from Morthal have come back with valuable information, says that the rest of the Draugr army is encamped inside the ancient city. Ten thousand of them, to be exact."

_Ten thousand. _Rikke thought to herself. Now that Markarth had been reclaimed, and if Riften was been saved by the Prince, then it would seem as if victory was in their grasp. All they needed to do was grab hold of it, to keep it firmly in their hands and never let go. They could win this war right now if they all marched to Labyrinthian.

But the trouble was the lack of information. Why were the Draugr encamped in Labyrinthian? What was there that they wanted? It was possible that they simply wanted to fortify the city, but Rikke sensed there was something more going on, something she could not understand.

"You have done well, go to the inn and get some rest. Grab a drink if you feel like it, you have earned it." Rikke told the courier.

The man gave her a nod and walked out of Castle Dour. Rikke turned back to the map of Skyrim that was on top of the table behind her. She wanted to deal the final blow, to end the threat now. But she possessed no army nor men, all of them had gone with General Tullius, in order to reclaim Whiterun. She wondered what the General would have done before he was killed at Whiterun, would he wait? Or would he strike at this moment?

The courier opened the door and walked speedily back to Rikke, who turned back to face him. She had thought he would have been at the inn already by now.

"I almost forgot," he said, his hands searching for something in his pocket, until he pulled out a note, "Here, from the Prince."

She took the note gratefully, and the courier rushed back out of the Castle once again. She did not open it at first, wondering what contents waited for her. It could be bad news, perhaps they had failed and the battle was not truly won like they thought. Or maybe it contained good news, perhaps saying that the whole host at Riften had been eradicated. She broke the seal and carefully unfolded the letter, her eyes skimming over the words.

_To Legate Rikke,_

_ Rumor has been spreading that the Dragonborn has returned, I have come to confirm it. Legate Valor's valiance in the field of battle had provided us with the means of victory. Most of the Riften host has been eradicated, although we are still working on quelling smaller groups outside of the main city. Out first objective is Fort Dawnguard, should you need to send anymore couriers to give us valuable information, I suggest it be directed there. _

_ Sincerely, Vaeril, the Prince of Cyrodiil, The heir to the Mede Empire, and the Dragon's son._

When she had finished reading the letter, Rikke had set it down lightly on the table. _So the rumors are true, _Rikke thought. Word had been spreading like a forest fire that the Dragonborn had come back from wherever he went. Rikke dismissed it as crude gossip, not worthy to put her trust in. But perhaps she was wrong. If the Dragonborn had returned, then perhaps Skyrim could rest with victory assured.

_No, _Rikke told herself, _it is not over yet. _She could not put too much faith on Valor to save Skyrim. He was one person, and one does not bring down an army. Perhaps in the Nordic songs and tales, but this was real war. The Dragonborn's return was great news, but they could not bet on victory yet. Rikke sensed that the Draugr were not done just yet.

She would have to speak to Elisif about this. The High Queen of Skyrim would want to know about what Rikke had learned. The Legate did not want to walk over to the Blue Palace, but she convinced herself to do just that soon after.

She left the Castle, going outside. The sun was out, and it was almost midday. The new recruits were training in the courtyard just like always, Captain Aldis teaching them. Rikke watched them practice as she went by; some showed great promise, while there were others that could use a lot of work. It was the two archers though that had amazed her. Their aim was perfect, the arrow they both had loosed hit right at the intended target, the hole in the middle. They seemed proud off their achievement, and turned to receive a pat on the back from Aldis. Rikke turned her head forward, a small grin appearing on her lips.

The citizens seemed happy as they walked by, the whole city had been in a sense of amazement and joy when rumors had come that the Dragonborn had returned. Some said that his own lover had found him, while others told that he had come from heaven, delivered by the gods. One even said that he was Akatosh himself, and took the form of the Dragonborn to lift the spirits of the people of Skyrim.

Rikke didn't know which tale to believe, so she didn't trust in any of them. _Although we know he has returned, the Prince confirmed it. _Rikke thought, if Valor was with the Prince, then it was no surprise that they had won the battle of Riften. Rikke hoped that they did not waste too many men trying to help Fort Dawnguard though. They would need as much help as they could if they were to defeat the Draugr at Labyrinthian.

It did not take long for Rikke to find herself standing before the doors leading to the Blue palace. She didn't want to return there, as she felt uncomfortable being around the people inside. The only one who she felt comfortable with was Elisif herself, but the High Queen was not her friend, only her Queen.

She pushed the door open and sped inside. She did not waste time greeting the politicians or the maids. She kept her eyes forward and focused on walking up the stairs, there were many of them, but she had grown use to coming here every day to tell Elisif of what she had learned. When she had arrived at the second level of the Palace, she saw High Queen Elisif speaking with Falk Firebeard. Erikur, Bryling, and Sybille Stentor were nowhere to be found. Rikke was glad; those three in particular had bothered her.

She knelt to one knee, "My Queen, I bring more information and news from the Prince."

Elisif stopped speaking with Falk Firebeard and turned her attention to the legate before her. "Rise," Rikke did so, "What news does the royal Prince have for me, and what is this talk of information?"

"Legionnaire scouts have reported that the last great Draugr host has taken residence in Labyrinthian." Rikke told her Queen.

"Labyrinthian, as in the ancient ruin around a week's journey from here?" Elisif asked.

"Aye, that one." Rikke replied. Labyrinthian was actually only five days away, which meant that if the Draugr wanted to attack Solitude, there would be nothing to stop them.

"Also, I have received a letter from Prince Vaeril, which contents have provided me with interesting information."

"Tell me more." Elisif commanded.

"As you wish, my Queen." Rikke said, "Prince Vaeril has defeated the host at Riften, and also confirmed that the Dragonborn is with him."

Murmurs and whispers came from the few politicians and maids that were around, Rikke even heard the High elven wizard that served one of the Thanes say something aloud. Elisif seemed to have a smile on her face, and she gave a quick look to Falk Firebeard, who also seemed to have a face filled with joy.

"Truly?" Elisif said, "Then Skyrim can surely put their faith in someone once again. This is great news indeed, and I thank you for it. You may go-!"

Elisif was about to finish speaking, but Erikur seemed to come from nowhere. A smug look was on his face as he approached the court. "My Queen, what about Labyrinthian? Surely we must deal the final blow once and for all."

"Erikur!" Falk Firebeard seemed aggravated, "What have I told you about interrupting the Queen?"

"Forgive me steward; I was just reminding our Queen of the important part of what Rikke has told us here. The Dragonborn returning is great news indeed, but let us not get ahead of ourselves; he is no true hero of Skyrim. This land needs someone who our men can rally behind, a truly inspiring figure, perhaps our Queen? Ride forth and fight the Draugr at Labyrinthian, what good is having a monarchy if it cannot defend its own people?"

"Enough!" Falk said, but Elisif gave him a stern look, and the steward knew to stop.

"Erikur may be right, Labyrinthian should be our major priority. But I am no warrior, perhaps we should send someone else to fight. Perhaps you, Legate; I know that the General put a great amount of trust in you."

Erikur's face looked defeated, but Rikke's looked surprised, "Me?" she asked, "I would be honored to do as you bid, my Queen."

"Send a letter to the Prince, and to the Legate at Markarth," Elisif told her steward, "Tell them that the time has come, to marshal at the plains of Whiterun and to march towards Labyrinthian."

"Of course, my Queen." Falk Firebeard said.

"As for you, Legate; ride out and meet the two forces at Whiterun. You may take as many men as you need; all I ask is that you leave some to guard the city."

"Of course my Queen. I will leave at once." Rikke found herself saying, and then slowly walked away. She had wanted to go to battle, to march with the General, but now that she was asked to do the very thing, she didn't want to. It was until Rikke was at the stables and was upon a horse with dozens of men behind her that Rikke realized what she was setting out for.

**Well there it is. I tried to get something out today, and I hope that this chapter was not terrible or boring. Although I am sure it was at least one of those two. **

** Anyways, on a better note, at the very second I am writing this my story has received 101 reviews! I remember when I wrote chapter one and got only four reviews! This is a great day, and I want to thank anyone who reviews, and if you didn't review; I want to thank you too just for reading. I can't give you guys anything, but I can gift you with the greatest quote in ASOIAF.**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground." –Cersei Lannister. **


	45. Valor IV

Valor

The army outside Fort Dawnguard was small, and would not be able to defeat the Fort's defenses. It was too small to pose a threat from beyond the wall, but if they managed to get inside, then the vampire hunters would not live long to tell the tale. Thankfully for them, Prince Vaeril had took half of his host and marched for the castle. Valor was there as well, along with Eleriand, and Serana. Valor had urged her to stay behind, not only because of the battle, but also because he did not want her around the Dawnguard. But she insisted and would not give up, so Valor had no choice. He could not force her to stay.

When they rode up to the battle, Valor noticed that the host was smaller than he had initially imagined. He had been told that the army was only five-thousand strong, but Valor thought the host looked even smaller than that. Perhaps the Dawnguard had done a great job at making the battle easier for the Legion.

"Notch!" Prince Vaeril said as the men were arrows reach, not far from where the battle was taking place. "Draw!" He said as well, and the men did just that. Valor himself did not have his own bow, so he just watched as the others did as they were commanded. The sound that came from thousands of bow-strings being pulled back could be heard even from the fort; as they seemed to notice from the walls.

"Loose!" the final words that everyone had been awaiting were said, and everyone loosened their grip on the arrows, sending them abroad. The twang of bows echoed through the canyon behind them, and frightened the Draugr in front. Valor had never seen Draugr panic, but some of them were scurrying around, trying to find somewhere to hide. A few did, and managed to secure themselves from harm, but others met death as arrows rained down on them.

"Notch. Draw. Loose!" The Prince repeated, and the actions that the men had done once before were repeated as well. Valor saw more soldiers' reach for their quivers, and pull out a sharp arrow, putting it to string. Even more fired, sending the sharp weapon into the air. Serving as the bringer of death, they pierced even more Draugr, some penetrating even the strongest of the Ancient Nordic armor. More came, and more fell; until eventually the Draugr took a smarter route and aligned some of their own archers to return the fire. Valor gave Eleriand a look, who returned with a plain expression. Valor then looked to the back of the host, to see if he could find Serana. Valor had done enough to convince her to at least stay out of arrows reach during the battle.

He couldn't find her, so Valor turned forward, watching as arrows were traded between the two forces. The Imperial Legion easily overpowering the weaker, Draugr army. The Dawnguard let loose their crossbow bolts as well; making the Draugr deal with arrows fire from both sides. They could not handle it, and now the army was out of order, no direct leadership between them.

It had gotten to the point that most of the Imperial soldiers had already used up all of their arrows. Prince Vaeril rode back and forth atop his steed, making sure all could hear him, "Ready weapons!" was his first royal command, and Valor found himself unsheathing his own blade. Others did around him, and the Prince was the first to ride forward; the rest following soon after. Valor gave a nod to Eleriand as the whole host went forward, the High Elf gave him one as well, and they both, along with the host, rode forward to battle.

It did not take long for the Imperial Legion army to crash into the remaining Draugr. They did not pose much of a threat at first, as many of them tried to escape unscathed, with most failing. Others continued to fight, and met the Legion in battle. Valor himself spared no mercy for the undead and dealt with them accordingly; striking down without hesitation. Others around him seemed to have just the same amount of luck, as the host seemed to suffer little casualties. Crossbow bolts came from the Dawnguard as well, providing Valor and the rest with aid.

Steel clashed, and blood spilt upon the cold ground of the Rift. The spirit of the soldiers had not waned, and they fought with the same intensity they had when the battle began. The Draugr felt this, as the battle was beginning to close, as the number of undead was dropping drastically. Still though, the Draugr kept on fighting, not giving up until their defeat was certain.

Valor stopped fighting when he heard a cry for his name, which he swore came from his right. Valor turned that direction, and saw Serana on the ground, an arrow in her right shoulder and leg. Above her was a Draugr wielding no weapon. It tried to beat Serana to submission, but the woman rolled to the side as best as she could with an arrow inside her. Valor rode forward quickly, wasting no time, the battle around him was growing heated, but he paid that no attention. He would not lose Serana the way he lost Alianor (Even though he himself was the one that killed her).

His blade was raised and he brought it down with one quick slash, but the Draugr had caught it in its bare hands. Valor soon realized his swing had not been strong enough when the Draugr pulled him down from atop his mount, causing the Dragonborn to thump against the ground right next to Serana. The Draugr used Valor's own sword to deal the last blow, attempting to kill Valor. But he was prepared, and rose quickly, dodging the Draugr's strike. Serana crawled away, getting farther from danger.

The Draugr moved forward, lunging while bringing the sword down, the stroke fluid for an undead Nord. Valor kept his distance, and easily evaded the blow. He paced backwards slowly, making sure he did not make one misstep and go tumbling to the ground, and his doom. Finally, the undead Nord thrust the blade forward in a stabbing motion; Valor sidestepped and landed a punch at the Draugr's bony face. It stumbled backwards, and Valor took this opportunity to yank the blade from tis grasp, and then finishing the duel with one last attack at the head.

Valor looked for Serana, and eventually found her only five feet away. She looked at him with relief in her eyes, and Valor rushed to her, observing as the battle around them was coming to a close. The Last of the Draugr were either trying to fight, or were fleeing for their lives. The ones that attempted to flee did not last long, as several riders went after them. While the last of the opposing Draugr were cut down at the foot of the wooden gate.

Valor inspected Serana's wound, the arrow was deep, and it would take someone with experience to get it out. Valor would not attempt it, he would not risk doing something wrong and causing Serana either excruciating pain, or possible death. If she bled too much, then Valor would be taking a big risk.

Eleriand eventually came beside him, crouching down to notice what was going on; his face seemed to darken as he looked at the arrows protruding from the woman.

"We have to cut them out." Eleriand said.

"I won't." Valor simply stated.

"I don't think that's a good idea!" Serana said through the pain.

"Nonsense." A voice came from behind, Valor turned to see the Prince behind them, still atop his horse. He seemed to have suffered little injury, aside from a small cut on his forehead.

"I am sure the Dawnguard possess healers, there is no need to put her life in danger if we don't know what we are doing." Prince Vaeril said.

"I agree." Serana said, grimacing slightly.

Valor attempted to pick Serana up, lifting her from off the ground; she could not walk, as the pain in her shoulder would prevent her from doing anything else. She was not heavy, so Valor found no difficulty in carrying her. The group went forward to the wooden gate, in which two Dawnguard opened it, allowing them to pass.

The outside of the Fort looked exactly as Valor remembered it, the stone castle overshadowing everything else outside. A few of the hunters gave Valor a look, and the Dragonborn recognized a few of them. He did not know any personally, but he had seen some during his days with the Dawnguard. One of them had been the first person to tell him of the organization, an Orc whose name Valor could not recall. It had been so long since he had last seen them that Valor was surprised if he could recognize any of them.

They went all the way to the wooden gates, passing more Dawnguard along the way. When they got closer, Valor recognized the last person Valor was excited to see. Isran, leader of the Dawnguard slowly approached them, his face having the same expression that it always did. Isran had never expressed anything other than contempt; Valor had never seen him happy or joyful.

"Good to see you again, Valor; we would have died here had you not." Isran said, and Valor could tell it was forced.

"Probably." Valor said, he didn't want to speak with Isran at this very second; he had to get Serana to a healer. As much as Valor was sure that Isran enjoyed seeing Serana in pain, Valor would not give him the pleasure much longer. The Redguard had never been fond of Serana; he viewed her as below human. He had never approved of Valor's relations with the woman, and felt that she was using him to further her own goals. Isran even attempted to send his own men to kill her when Valor was not with her, ever since then, Valor had wanted to confront him. But now was not the time.

"I need your healers, Isran." Valor told the Redguard, who looked down at Serana and snarled.

"You want me to help this?" Isran began, pointing to Serana, but he soon stopped speaking when he saw the anger rising in the Dragonborn.

"Uh…Never mind." Isran changed his attitude, "Bring her to the healers!" Isran told his men, who quickly rushed forward. Valor gave one last look to Serana before handing her to one of the men, a strong looking Nord. He watched as they went inside the Fort.

"We have been waiting for you, Dragonborn. Our attack on Castle Volkihar has been delayed due to your absence. I assume you will want to speak of battle plans?" Isran asked.

"Battle plans?" Valor asked, "To tell you the truth, Isran; attacking Castle Volkihar is the least of my problems right now. Did you not see the Draugr that just attacked your Fort?"

"I saw it all right. Probably a ploy for the vampires to weaken us before they step in and deal the final blow. We need to act fast, and kill them all wherever they are hiding. Every single one of them needs to die. _Every single one."_

Valor knew the last part was pertaining to Serana, "If you touch her, you will regret it."

The Prince and Eleriand just stood and watched as Valor and Isran were trading remarks. Both seemed to have an interested look on their faces, as if they were enjoying the argument.

"You may not see it, but I do! That creature is using you for her own gain, she will run you dry, and when the moment comes that she is done with you, and you turn your back, she will have her fangs dug so deep into your neck that you won't even feel it." Isran shouted, and the other Dawnguard gathered to watch.

"If you opened your eyes you would notice this; _she is no longer a vampire! _She poses no threat to you or the Dawnguard!" Valor shouted as well, and soon all of the Dawnguard could hear.

"How do we know that? This could be an illusion; you of all people know that vampires are heavily skilled in illusion magic! She could be fooling all of us by making her appearance different to our eyes!"

Now Valor had enough, "If you touch her, I will make sure you suffer for it." Valor said in a dim and dark voice that seemed to disturb the rest of the group. Even Isran seemed affected by the apparent bloodlust in Valor's eyes.

_His soul is inside you, you will become just like him soon. _

The words of Hermaeus Mora came into Valor's mind, except this time they seemed quieter than they normally did. Valor hoped that was a good sign, although nothing was good about a powerful Daedra torturing you through your mind.

He did his best to ignore it, "I will have no more." Valor stated, and walked straight past Isran and to the great wooden doors leading into Fort Dawnguard. He did not look back to see if Eleriand and the Prince were following, nor would he. He had more things to worry about, like Serana, and the Daedra in his mind.

**Well I managed to update a new chapter, and I hope you people were not disappointed. I am truly doing the best I can to get these chapters out in a reasonable time, I really don't want to be like those authors that take two weeks to a month to upload. **

** Anyways, I have another question for your guys. Could you people tell me what your favorite POV is? It may sway my decision on who lives and who dies, as I don't want to go the GRRM route and upset a lot of people by killing people's favorite character. **

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Kof…Pie." Joffrey Baratheon in his last moments. My favorite part of ASOIAF. **


	46. The Conspirator

The Conspirator

"We have to do it; she will destroy us all if we don't."

Isran had summoned his best hunters to gather in Isran's private quarters the following night after the attack at Fort Dawnguard. Present was Isran, Gunmr, Jarin, and Sadon. Sadon was a Redguard, like Isran. Although Sadon did not hate vampires like Isran…he hated them even more.  
Ever since his father and grandfather were each killed by vampire attacks, Sadon had vowed to end their reign of terror wherever he went. It was only two years ago when he found himself under the service of the Dawnguard. Sadon had never felt like he belonged anywhere, but with the Dawnguard it was like these people were his family.

Sadon's hair was short, almost making him bald. He was of normal size and weight, although his arms looked stronger than most Redguards. Sadon's eyes were a dark brown, and his eyebrows were short and trimmed. He had no facial hair, except for very short stubble along his chin.

"Are you sure, Isran? This is something very dangerous you are speaking of." Gunmr said.

"We have to, she is a danger to us all, we cannot allow her to continue fooling the Dragonborn, and everyone else."

"You do realize this is murder you are speaking of?" Sadon asked.

"Not murder, justice." Isran said, a calm tone in his voice

"When the Dragonborn finds out-!" Jarin began, although Isran interrupted him.

"Valor has been fooled by her; he thinks she loves him when really she is waiting to cut his throat in his sleep. When he finds out, we tell him that she tried to kill me, and escaped when I defended myself and bested her."

"You think Valor will believe that?" Sadon asked.

"He will once we show him the blood outside, and the dagger she tried to kill me with." Isran hinted, and Sadon caught on soon enough.

"What if Valor is there as well? We cannot risk him walking in while we do it!" Gunmr said.

"I have already taken precautions on that matter. Earlier I gave him some wine, straight from Cyrodiil. It was filled with a poison that induces a deep sleep for three hours in the victim. We won't have to worry about him interrupting at any time."

"This is madness." Gunmr murmured.

"How is it madness?" Isran began, slightly angered, "She's a vampire! We are sworn to rid their kind from our world, no matter the cost! She may have fooled Valor and his friends, but she does not fool me! Her illusion magic has tricked everyone, but I see her for what she truly is; a monster, who deserves to be destroyed."

_He's gone mad. _Sadon thought to himself, although deep in his mind Sadon believed him.

"Your loyalty lies with the Dawnguard, and to Skyrim. You have seen the death and destruction these creatures can bring with your own eyes. Watch them kill a traveler, or slaughter an innocent child playing during the night, and then tell me that they all deserve to live. I will kill every last vampire I can get my hands on, is that clear?"

"Aye." The others said, even Sadon found himself uttering the words.

"Serana has eluded my grasp for four years, but now her time will come." Isran said, his hands forming a fist, "The Dawnguard will end the vampire's life before she can end the lives of innocents."

_If only Sorine were here, she could talk some sense into him. _Sadon thought. Sorine had gone back to her laboratory in the Reach in order to find her new advanced crossbow blueprints around a month ago. She had not been back since.

"For the love the divines have on man, I hope you know what you are doing, Isran." Gunmr said.

"I always do, vampires have always been my specialty. This one is no different, just go in silently and deal the blow. Then we carry her outside and drip some of her blood outside, making it seem like she escaped. Then we dispose of her body far away, maybe in a lake somewhere."

"And if the Dragonborn finds the body?" Sadon asked.

"We say some of our hunters tracked her down and killed her." Isran smirked.

All of the Dawnguard leaders seemed to agree with Isran's plan. Sadon even shook his head, he may have hated vampires, but the girl had all the looks of a mortal. Sadon was not familiar with illusion magic, but if what Isran said was true then they had better end her life before it is too late.

"Let's go, and move silently. Don't look like you're about to do something either. Walk casually." Isran said, before he began to head to the staircase in order to return to the first floor of Fort Dawnguard. Everyone else followed, and Sadon was in the back, the last in line. Jarin was before him, a big brute of a Nord. But he was a great hunter, and a better smith.

The four all made their way down the stairs, and with each step Sadon felt he fatigue growing. All of the Dawnguard that were with him seemed fine, except for Gunmr, who shook his head over and over, and sped down the staircase. When he reached the bottom, he said, "Sorry Isran, but I can't do it. Divines know what the Dragonborn would do to me if he found out." He didn't say anymore, but just went to his forge.

Isran seemed disgruntled, but he did not reply to Gunmr's words. Instead he continued to walk down the stairs, his hunters still following. Sadon contemplated doing exactly as Gunmr did, but he kept in line. Isran would have his hide if he abandoned the mission, as he was sure that he would have Gunmr's.

When they reached the first floor of the Fort, Isran led them to the woman's room. It was far to the left, and was secluded from everywhere else in the Fort. They went towards it, and as they walked several healers left the vampire's room. They seemed to know what was going to happen, because they sprinted away when the group of Dawnguard approached.

Sadon contemplated whether or not they were truly doing the right thing. What they were about to commence was murder, and Sadon knew it. Isran could try to deny it and label it as justice, but Sadon knew better. Sadon did not truly know if the girl was a vampire, or if she was a mortal, nor did he know what power illusion magic entails. But Sadon would follow Isran's lead, the man had never been wrong before.

Isran grabbed the handle leading into the woman's room, and slowly turned it. After opening it, the three Dawnguard walked inside. Sadon was the last one in, and he looked to the woman inside.

She was beautiful, nobody could refute that. He saw no signs of vampirism, so her illusion magic must have been powerful. Cloth was wrapped around the spots that they had to take the arrows out of her body. She looked up at the three confused, not knowing what was going to happen. Sadon felt pity for a moment, but all that went away when he saw Isran walk forward, everyone else following.

The woman seemed to notice that something was wrong, and rose from her sitting position, taking a few steps back. The room was larger than most, so it allowed for much space, something that Isran should have thought of before doing this.

Isran was the first to attack, readying his war hammer so quickly, and sending it flying, swinging it straight at the woman. She leapt to the side, but soon realized her mistake when she had ended up closer to Jarin, who sent his fist straight into her cheek. The woman stumbled back and almost fell, shouting in pain, but the Dawnguard were not done yet. Isran then went forward once again, and swung downward, but the woman ran to the left, and then released one of her spells, blowing Isran back with a bolt of lightning. It didn't kill him, as Sadon saw him try to get up afterwards.

Sadon slowly walked forward, he could not let the women kill his friends. He unsheathed his dagger and leapt forward, catching the woman by surprise. He shoved his dagger straight into her side, a speck of blood hitting his forehead. The woman fell down and gasped in pain, and Sadon fell with her.

They both wrestled on the ground, with Jarin and Isran watching. The woman was holding Sadon off well considering that she had a dagger stuck in her side. She repeatedly hit him across the head over and over, while Sadon tried to coil his hands around her neck. Finally she had hit him hard enough to knock him off her, as his back hit the ground. The woman rose slowly, screaming as she tried to pull the dagger out, failing in the process.

But the door opened, and Sadon turned to see a High Elf, his sword drawn. He immediately understood what was happening, and rushed inside. Sadon did not have the strength to rise, but Isran and Jarin went in his place. Jarin swung his battle axe to and fro, but he High Elf was faster, and it only took one slice for the elf to slit Jarin's throat.

Isran was not as east though, the elf tried to keep his distance, but the Redguard rushed forward with every strike, hi slow swings generating much force. The elf tried to land a strike, as he thrust his sword forward, but Isran had foreseen it, and returned with a swing of his hammer. As it hit the elf in the chest, he was knocked back, and Sadon swore he heard a crack.

But the High Elf rose soon after that, and Sadon was surprised. How could he rise from a blow like that? The elf sent only one blow before he had made a gash across Isran's chest, who grunted in pain. Meanwhile, the woman tried to crawl away, Sadon watched, and just laid there.

Isran tried again, and sent the last blow, his hammer smashing against the High Elf's stomach. The elf fell in deep pain, and Isran ended it with one last strike over the head, killing the elf in seconds. Sadon felt relieved, until he saw Isran blown back by several lightning bolts. He did not rise afterwards.

Sadon remembered looking to the woman in his last moments, staring into the woman's eyes. He saw her anger, and her need for survival, and Sadon instantly regretted his decision, he should have done what Gunmr had done. Sadon cursed his luck, as the woman sent one last lightning bolt his way.

**Well…it had to be done. R.I.P. Eleriand, greatest High Elf I had ever known.**

** I NEED feedback for this chapter, I really want to know what you guys thought, was Eleriand's death too much? Or did you enjoy reading about it? Do you hate Isran as much as I do?**

** ASOIAD quote of the day: "EEELLLLIIIIAAAA!" Oberyn Martell.**

** RIP Eleriand, my long-time favorite POV…it had to be done. **


	47. Serana

Serana

_They tried to kill me. _

The others had found her after the Dawnguard had come to kill her. Several of Prince Vaeril's men and even a few Dawnguard rushed in a few minutes after the incident had occurred. Serana was lying on the ground, barely conscious, with a dagger stuck inside her. Several bodies were nearby, two Dawnguard were dead, although Isran was only unconscious. It seemed as if Serana's lightning spells were not enough to finish him off.

The men rushed around her, blocking off the only light that was visible. She was losing her sight, along with correct control of her body. She felt as if she was about to faint at any second, she began to wonder who these people were, what she was doing here, where she was, and what happened. Life was slipping away with every second, along with everything that had made her who she was. She couldn't remember anything that happened before the previous day, she began to wonder who the people she killed were. Who was Isran? Who was the man she supposedly was in love with? She didn't know any of these things, and when she was rushed out of the room in the arms of an Imperial soldier she thought she was going to die.

She was in another room not long after, and the man who was carrying her had set her down upon a soft bed. Then he and the others left her. Serana could still feel the dagger stuck in her body, and tried not to move too much. She saw a shadow move briefly, and tried to turn her neck to see who it was, but a shock went through her and she felt immense pain. She began to shout, "Who are you?" and "Where am I?" then a few tears went down her face slowly, as she said, "I don't remember…"

Her sight began to worsen, and the shadow came closer. Serana could tell it was an elderly man, who held a bottle in his hands. He towered over her, and lifted the small bottle that he held in his grasp. He brought it to her lips, "Drink." He commanded, but Serana shook her head. She didn't want to drink anything at this moment; she only wanted to lay there in pain.

"Drink." The man said once more, this time more harsh and threatening. At first Serana shook her head again, but when the man brought the bottle to her lips, she drank it at once. At first it tasted like honey, but the aftertaste was bitter, and Serana even began to cough. Then the man went to her side, and inspected her wound. He grabbed the dagger and pulled it very slowly, and Serana screamed louder than she ever had. The man stopped soon after that.

"I must pull the dagger out. You will feel pain, it will be excruciating, but it must be done." The man said, and those were the last words she heard before he grabbed the hilt of the dagger and began to pull it out once again. Serana screamed again, and watched as the world began to blacken around her. The last thing she remembered was hearing the dagger hit the ground as it left her body.

Harkon stared down at Serana, a sense of disgust in his face. He was clad in the same vampire armor he had been the day that he had died. Serana had done it, she had dealt the final blow; stabbing his in the stomach one last time. But now her father was before her, in his hand was the same blade he had tried to kill her with.

"I see this dragon has fangs." He said with a narcissistic smirk, "Your voice drips with the venom of your mother's influence. How alike you've become."

The Lord of vampires shed the skin of his birth to return to his true form, to be one with the night. He drew his arms and legs inward, and his position almost looked like a sleeping bat, except he was not upside down. Then blood splattered all over, as his skin ripped open to release the vampire lord. One of the greatest powers unknown to the world, a gift from the Daedric Prince, Molag Bal.

"You will be sacrificed to fulfill the prophecy, and then vampires will claim the world, and everything else that is rightfully our!" Harkon uttered before his claws came forward, and with them a searing pain. Serana recoiled, fearing her father's claws. But when she looked up he was gone, and instead was there was the eye she had seen at Apocrypha. Its lids never blinking, instead into her depths, and her soul. Serana wanted to look away, but she couldn't find the strength to do so.

"I have been watching you, mortal." Hermaeus Mora said, "Oh yes, very closely."

Then she found herself sinking in a puddle of the same liquid she had seen in the Oblivion realm. She tried to move her legs in order to get out, but it was as if she could not control her own body. The acid began to burn her own skin, eating away at her body. Still, the eye stared down at her, and then Serana felt something grab her wrist, and turned to see a tentacle. Another went for her legs, keeping them in place as she sank into the acid. She felt the tentacles pull her arms and legs just as she was burning away, Serana wanted to scream, but she could not summon enough energy to do so.

"He will be the death of you, and you to him." the Daedric Prince said, and suddenly Serana was reminded of the day she was defiled the Molag Bal, in order to be gifted with a power that she would later rid herself of.

"You will die…you all will die…nothing will stop it…" the last words she had heard from the Daedric Prince came upon her. And at that the moment the tentacles finally submerged her into the pool of acid, and as her whole body burned, she managed to summon enough energy to scream. Although the acid filled her mouth, and she felt everything begin to melt.

She awoke to find that the room was empty, she tried to find the man that had been there earlier, but she could not see him anywhere. She rose higher in her bed, and noticed that the wound in her side had been wrapped and no longer pained her. She remembered who she was, and why she was here. Everything seemed fine again, except for the dreams she had earlier.

She thought back on the events that had happened earlier, when the Dawnguard had come for her with the intent on killing her. And when Eleriand, the one who she had journeyed with in order to find that Dragonborn was killed by Isran. She felt tears gather in her eyes, although she had not liked him at first, she had grown to truly enjoy his company the more they traveled together. She felt terrible that he had died trying to save her, and shuddered when she wondered what Valor had done once he found out.

The door opened, and in came one of the Dawnguard. Serana tried to rise from her bed in order to defend herself, but the Dawnguard hunter urged her to stop, "I'm not here to hurt you. The Prince has requested your presence."

_Why would he send you? _Serana thought, she almost said it aloud, but she stopped herself. This one seemed trustworthy enough, despite the fact that he was a Dawnguard. Perhaps he had just been doing as he was told, and maybe had set aside his hatred, unlike the others.

She rose slowly, still having a little trouble walking. First she had been hit by arrows, then she was attacked and stabbed in the side, it was not a good last few days for her. She took a few steps and almost fell, the Dawnguard tried to help her, but Serana smacked his hand away. She did not want him to touch her; she still did not completely trust him.

She walked down the stairs as quickly as she could, giving the hunter a few glances as she went. She would not risk him striking her from behind, or stabbing her like the other one had.

The steps were harder and harder to go down as time went by. But Serana kept on, she wanted to know what the Prince wanted with her. Had something happened? Perhaps Valor had gone on a rampage after he had learned of Eleriand's fate. Maybe Valor had been killed as well! It was a thought Serana would never accept.

Eventually she was at the first floor of Fort Dawnguard. She didn't see Valor anywhere, but she did see the Prince. He had a stressful look upon his face, and three soldiers stood near him. Each had blades in their hand.

"My lady, it is good to see you are okay…for the most part." Vaeril said.

"Thank you, I am glad as well." Serana replied.

"We were all praying for your safe recovery. It seems as if the divines were good enough to spare your life."

"And to that I thank the divines." _For all the good they've done me._

"My lady, perhaps it is best if you speak with Legate Valor privately, it seems he is quite shaken by what has happened."

_I don't blame him. _"I will speak with him, my lord."

"It would help immensely; he hasn't permitted anyone to speak with him. He just sits in the room, and doesn't do anything else."

_I would too, if I were him. _"I will go now, which room?"

"The one right behind us, you should knock first." Vaeril said, before he and his soldiers moved out of the way in order to let her through. She did just that, walking towards the wooden door and lightly knocking on it. The others behind her then went back to whatever they had been doing before; the only one staying was the Prince.

Serana knocked again, the door still didn't open. She tried once again, and still the door remained closed. "Valor, open the door." She said softly, hoping he would do as she asked.

Then Serana reached for the door knob, and when she turned it she noticed that the door was in fact open. She pushed the wooden door slowly, and walked inside. She scanned the room; it was large, bigger than most inside the Fort. She saw Valor sitting in a chair, just staring at Serana as she walked in. He didn't have an angry or sad expression on his face, just a plane look.

Serana went to the area in which Valor was residing, grabbing one of the random chairs that were nearby and dragging it right next to Valor. She sat down soon after, watching as Valor gave her a brief look before his attention was drawn to something else.

Serana laid her small hand on Valor's leg, "You okay?" she asked, almost a whisper. He didn't reply, and still showed no sign of emotion. He barely even acknowledged Serana's presence.

But it was not long after that Valor's attention was soon drawn to the bloody cloth that was wrapped around Serana's side. He gave it a long look, and pressed his hand against it, seeing if it hurt. Serana let out a whimper in pain, and Valor stopped soon after that.

"They did this to you." Valor said, it was not a question, more like he was trying to process the thought in his mind.

"They killed Eleriand." He said, and Serana grabbed his hand tightly.

"You okay?" Serana repeated herself. It was a stupid question, how could anyone be okay when their long-time friend was killed?

Valor mumbled a few words that Serana could not entirely catch, but from the bunch she recognized one word, _Vengeance. _He rose from his chair quickly, the chair skidding as it flew backwards. He went and kissed Serana on the lips quickly before he headed towards the door, saying nothing as he went. Serana rose as well, and quickly followed him, "Wait!" she shouted, "Where are you going?"

He didn't stop to answer her; he only sped outside, past the Prince, who stood confused. Serana didn't give Vaeril an explanation; she only followed the Dragonborn of legend. _Where is he going? _Was the only thing that went through Serana's mind.

She followed him up the stairs; Serana almost fell several times, but she had to follow the Dragonborn. She didn't know what he was doing or why, but she would find out.

Eventually Serana followed Valor to a room, and as she was about to go inside the door shut in front of her. She couldn't tell what was inside, but when she attempted to turn the knob she knew the door was locked. She sighed in frustration. She could hear Valor talking, but could not make it out. Serana decided to press her ear against the wooden door, and found that she could understand some of the things that were going on.

"How's your High Elf friend? Is he-!" the voice was interrupted, and Serana knew it was Isran. She tried to interpret what had happened, as it sounded as if Valor had possibly hit the hunter.

"Agh! Angry are you? You shouldn't be, I was only trying to do you a favor-!" and it sounded as if Isran was hit again.

"Having fun? Do you enjoy striking me? There is no honor in hitting an injured man!" Isran said, obviously angered.

"Serana was injured, but that didn't stop you." Valor's voice said.

"The woman? Honor doesn't apply when hunting vampires, you of all people should know that! You should be thanking me; perhaps the little harlot will die of her injuries, then-!"

Isran stopped speaking, and another sound came that hinted at Isran being hit.

"What's that matter? Does it anger you when I insult your little vampire whore? You just wait; when she has had her way with you she will dig her fangs so far-!"

Isran was struck again, and Serana found it hard to not be offended by Isran's words. She had never even met the man before, she had only heard of him from what Valor had told her. Why did he hate her so much, and why couldn't he tell that she was no longer a vampire?

"She is not a whore." Valor said.

"Whatever she is, she is just like her father, I can tell just by looking at her. Once she has what she wants, and uses you in all the way that she can, she will be done with you and dispose of you as so. Instead of fighting me, you should be helping me kill her. It would help us both."

Isran was allowed to finish his sentence this time, and Serana tried to see if she could hear him being struck, but no noise came. She could hear both of their heavy breaths inside, and Serana wondered what was going on. Was Valor considering Isran's proposal?

Then the one sound she had been aching to hear came about, over and over again. Serana could hear Isran grunting every time he was hit, and the sound came again and again, until Isran was screaming soon. But it wasn't over, for around a minute there was a continuous rhythm of beating noises. Until finally it ended, and Valor walked out of the room, giving Serana one look before walking away. Serana felt terrible when she saw his face, Valor looked confused, guilty, angry, sad, afraid. One could get so many messages from someone's face. Serana slowly peeked inside the room, and saw Isran on the ground, he was not moving. She made a few steps forward, moving very quietly, until she was right before the hunter. She looked down at him, and the hunter saw her as well.

Whatever Valor had done looked terrible, as Isran's face was barely recognizable. The skin around his eyes was so swollen that she could not see the eye. There were huge black and blue marks all around his lips. Not only that,, but it was as if Valor's knuckles had been engraved inside Isran's cheeks, the imprint still fresh. Serana felt no pity for Isran, he deserved this. He had brought this upon himself.

Serana walked away from him, and out the door.

**New chapter! I find that Serana's chapters always seem to be the longest, this one was seven pages, which is pretty long by my standards. **

** I hope you guys and girls liked it very much. And I am honored to say that this story has 111 reviews! I haven't been on that long, but I have found that 100+ reviews in this particular fandom is a great accomplishment. SO I thank you all for your help, and it makes me feel better than ever that people are actually reading this. THANK YOU!**

** GOD DARN ROMANCE! Can't write it to save my life, although I like to think it has gotten considerably better than my first Skyrim Fanfiction. Speaking of that, has anyone here aside from BlackDragon99 read Skyrim: Dusk? It is a fic I wrote back in the day, I thought it was kind of bad, but BD99 seemed to like it, maybe you would to. See my profile for details. **

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Vengeance. Justice. Fire and blood." –Doran Martell.**


	48. Valor V

Valor

Valor helped Serana sleep the night he had gone to see Isran. If anything, Valor should have been the one with trouble sleeping, but Serana could not ease her mind in fear of what would happen if she slept. Valor stayed in bed with her, his arms wrapped around her midsection until he was sure she was asleep. Then he slowly got out, trying not to wake her, and went to the nearest chair. He had to be ready, there was no telling what could happen, Valor had to stay vigilant. They had killed Eleriand, but they would not kill Serana. He would not allow it.

He grabbed a book off the top of the dresser, "The Great War." it was called, Valor put the book aside soon after. The Thalmor would not garner his attention for at least a few years; he had other things to worry about at the time. Like the Draugr, the Dragon Priest Konahrik, and the attempt on Serana's life.

Valor's mind kept on jumping back to what had happened before. Were it anyone else but Isran, Valor surely would have done something far worse, but he could not bring himself to kill the hunter just yet. Valor could not explain it, but he felt it would be wrong to end his life. But Valor made sure he learned his lesson, hopefully he would remember that next time he got any ideas.

Valor took this time to find a piece of cloth around the room. It was small, but he did not need a towel to clean his sword. He found the bucket that was full of boiled water and brought it over to his chair. Soon after that he dipped the piece of cloth inside the water, squeezing it to get out any excess water he did not need. Valor slowly unsheathed his sword soon after that, trying not to make too much noise. Serana needed rest, and he wanted her to have it. She had been through a lot, more than anyone deserved to go through.

Valor lightly brushed the cloth on his steel blade, wiping off the dirt and ancient blood that he had not cleaned after the battle not long ago. Valor never noticed that Draugr had blood, but it was all over his blade. Valor's sword began to look cleaner than before, and soon enough Valor tossed the dirty rag back into the bucket, and put his sword back in its sheathe. The sound of steel entering leather made a soft ring, but was not enough to wake Serana, for which Valor was grateful.

Valor's eyes began to drop, he was tired, and wanted to sleep, but he couldn't. Eleriand's death had shaken him, and he had to protect Serana. Not only that, but he was scared. Scared of the Daedra that would be waiting for him as soon as he left consciousness and entered the realm of dreams. Valor had never been scared of anything. He was not scared of Alduin, or Harkon, not even Miraak. But he feared the Daedra and the Dragon Priest as well.

But he was so tired, all he wanted to do was go back to the bed, with Serana, and fall asleep. But that changed when he heard a knock on the door. Valor jumped up, he didn't know who wanted him, but he doubted that if it was a group of killers, they probably wouldn't knock. He opened the door, and at the entrance was the Prince. Valor didn't want to talk right now, but he let Vaeril in anyways. It was rude to deny someone audience without at least knowing what they are going to say.

The Prince made himself comfortable in the chair that Valor had been sitting in earlier. Valor closed the door, and awkwardly leaned on the door.

"We ride for Labyrinthian tomorrow."

"Labyrinthian?" Valor asked, why could they possible want to go there?

"Aye, the last of the Draugr are encamped there. I just received the letter from Legate Rikke." Vaeril said.

"Then the war is almost over?"

"Aye, indeed. Or at least it seems that way. I don't know why, but I have the feeling this is just the beginning."

Valor hoped that was not the case, he had only taken part in one battle and already he wanted this whole affair to be over. All he wanted to do was return to Lakeview manor, and live in peace. Maybe Serana would come with him, since it seemed as if she was not going to return to Castle Volkihar.

"Then that means the Dragon priest will be there." Valor said.

"And you will have to face him." Vaeril pointed out.

"I guess so, even if I don't want to. Who else will?" Valor asked.

The Prince didn't answer the question, instead he just sat there, turning his head and looking at Serana, who was still soundly asleep despite their conversation not being quiet.

"How is she?"

"She is worried and scared, but she won't show it. I can tell though, I can always tell." Valor said.

"Keep her close," the Prince said, "these Dawnguard fellows make me uneasy, what they did was terrible, but I have the feeling they aren't done just yet."

Valor shuddered to think of what would happen if they tried what they did again. He would be forced to take action, _true _action. If that meant he had to kill someone in order to save Serana's life, then he would do it.

Vaeril rose from his chair, Valor could tell that he was trying to make little noise. Valor liked that he was being courteous, and opened the door for him as he went to leave. The Prince of Cyrodiil had reminded him a lot of himself; they were not that different from each other. Aside from Valor's inherent abilities concerning dragons, and their age. Vaeril was only nineteen, whereas Valor was twenty-two before he was found by Serana and Eleriand. _So that makes me…twenty-five? _He didn't know the date, so he was not certain.

As the Prince left the room he said once last thing, 'Get some sleep, my friend. It's a long journey to Whiterun, you need the strength. I will have two guards outside your door to calm your mind."

"Thank you, my lord."

Vaeril left, but two soldiers came. Each held a spear in their hand, long and made of pine wood, tipped with steel forged strait from Cyrodiil. Valor gave them a nod before he closed the door, giving a look to Serana. He wanted to sleep, and now he could. He slowly walked towards the bed, and lay on top of it. Lightly, he once again wrapped his arms around the one he loved, and attempted to go to sleep. He would not stall sleep anymore, if Hermaeus Mora wanted to torture him with dreams, then so be it.

* * *

Valor was once again in the Shrine of the Dragon Priests. Each of the busts was filled aside from the one that should have Konahrik's mask. Also, the Dragon priest was missing; instead Valor was alone inside the building. It did not take long for Valor to notice that a mask was in his hand. Forged of wood, and when he held it he felt as if the world of the past was beckoning for him, longing for him to come. He lifted the mask to his face, and felt it lightly burnt the skin. It did not hurt immensely, more like a shock.

Then, he saw things. The images changed to quickly at first, but soon enough he was in another room. It was considerably larger, and inside were the Dragon Priests. Each wearing their respected mask, even the ones that Valor swore he had slain, such as Nakriin, were present. He saw Priests from Solstheim, and Skyrim. He saw Priests from northern Cyrodiil, and everywhere else that the dragons had conquered back in the old days of Tamriel. They looked at him, and then their bodies began to disintegrate, and energy came from them. It looked just like when Valor would absorb a dragon soul, except this time it did not come to Valor, but to another. When the figure turned Valor saw it was Konahrik who was taking the souls of the priests of the Dragon cult.

Then that image went away, and Valor saw something else. He was up above Nirn; he could see the stars, the moons, the sun, and everything else that the gods had created. The sun itself had come from Magnus, and the moons and stars from the other divines. He saw the other planets that were the minds depictions of the gods, but his attention was drawn to Nirn, more specifically, Tamriel. It was as if he could not control where his eyes wandered, as his eyes were drawn to the Summerset Isles, and he heard the sound of swords clashing. Then he looked to Cyrodiil, and heard the beat of hooves on the ground, and it sounded like thousands were marching. Then finally he saw Skyrim, and he heard the crackle of fire burning on charred wood. It erupted like an explosion in his ears, and he didn't want to see anymore.

_Son of Dragons…Dragonborn…_

He heard them like faint whispers speaking in his mind. They haunted him even in his nightmares, where it felt like things could get no worse. Then Nirn, and the world that the gods created disappeared, and Valor was left with another vision to look upon.

He saw the tentacles once again, the very things he feared. They tried to rap around him, but Valor cut them to pieces with the sword he didn't even realize he had. They fell down and disappeared, but more came, and Valor tried to flee. He evaded them for a while, but they chased him, and eventually managed to wrap him in their grasp. He thrashed around, but the tentacles did not loosen. And then they came again, the images of Miraak, and his words. _May he be rewarded for his service, as I am. _Came every time the tentacles pulled harder.

But the tentacles released their grasp soon enough, Miraak's words ended. And no sign of Hermaeus Mora was about. Instead Valor was in the clouds; he looked down and saw Fort Dawnguard Riften, and the rest of Skyrim. Not only that, but a figure was in the distance, and at first Valor thought it was a bird. But when a mighty roar came from the distance, he knew it to be a dragon. It landed right before him, it's scales pale white, but they glowed, sending a radiance about them. And Valor felt as if time itself was in the dragon's grasp.

"This is why you must fight," it said, "the true war is coming."

* * *

His eyes shot open, and he was no longer in his dreams. Valor had the feeling that there was a reason why he was awake now; someone had awoken him for a reason. _Something _had awoken him. He heard the sound of a brawl going on outside and jumped out of the bed when he heard a sword being unsheathed. Serana was awoken soon after, but Valor did not care. Something was happening, and he needed to know what.

The sounds ended, and Valor stayed still, loosening his sword from its scabbard. He waited, something had happened outside his door, and he needed to know what. Serana was getting out of bed as well, as Valor could hear her rising. But she did not say anything; the only thing that came from her was the sound of her dagger being drawn. They both waited, as the door opened.

Valor was not surprised when he saw Isran enter with three other Dawnguard members. The Redguard's face had not yet healed from the beating he had earned from Valor, and it seemed as if Isran had not learned his lesson. Valor could see the dead corpses of the guards outside his door as it opened, and readied himself to fight. Serana came closer, and stood right next to Valor.

"Step aside, Valor; our business concerns her." Isran said.

"I see you didn't learn your lesson, Isran. Shall I teach you again?" Valor asked.

"Spare me your empty threats, I outnumber you two-to-one. My men will not hesitate to shoot you down should you be unwise and attempt to thwart us."

"Shoot me then!" Valor roared, he had grown tired of this. Isran had gone too far this time; his patience would run dry very soon.

"Come to your senses! Do not throw away your life for a creature that will cut your throat in your sleep! Listen to reason! You signed up for the Dawnguard to end the vampire menace, and she is one of them! She is no different than the rest of those bloodsuckers that tried to kill you and me over and over again!"

"She is different, why can't you understand that?"

"She may seem different to you; the vampires have special illusion spells to fool the weak minded. But she does not fool me! I see her for what she is: a monster just like her father. Who knows what strings she is trying to pull? I will not allow her to escape, so I ask you one last time, stand aside or be killed."

Valor did not move.

"You have three seconds! One…Two…Three!"

Valor had thought Isran was bluffing, but he was not. Three crossbow bolts had been sent flying across the room. Valor pushed Serana to the ground while being hit in the left shoulder at the same time. He let out a grunt in pain, and turned his attention to his attackers. Isran had already drawn his war hammer, but Valor was ready.

"FUS RO DA!" Valor shouted out, embracing the language of his true kin. His power echoed through the halls of Fort Dawnguard, and sent the Dawnguard flying back with an incredible force. He rushed outside, while the hunters tried to rise. Valor showed no mercy, cutting down one while he tried to escape, then another. Only two were left; one, after Valor had killed the third. All that was left was Isran.

"For the Dawnguard! For Skyrim!" Isran shouted as he sprung forward, his war hammer falling quickly. Isran had always been experienced with the hammer, but it was slow and easy to evade if done carefully.

Valor leaped back, and tried to keep his space. Isran would put up a challenge in close combat. He had to make sure he had enough space to dodge his powerful blows.

Once again Isran came rushing forward, but Valor sidestepped this time, and had already anticipated Isran's obvious move. Isran swung his hammer downward, but missed Valor entirely. The Dragonborn took the opportunity to send a furry of cuts at Isran's legs, leaving him unable to flee. Valor would end this one and for all.

Valor kicked the war hammer out of Isran's grasp, and watched as it rolled on the floor. Isran looked up at Valor with disgust, and spit in his face. "Anyone who protects a vampire is lower than them to me!"

"Nobody is lower than you, Isran." Valor replied.

"You will come to rue this day, Dragonborn! When she tries to kill you in your sleep, or leaves you and you are heartbroken, only to move on to one who could help her further her goals, than you will remember this day!"

"I will remember this day for other reasons." Valor said, as he slid the sword across Isran's neck, and wondered what it felt like.

**I quite enjoyed writing this chapter, especially the dream scene. There is just something about heavy foreshadowing that really gets me excited!**

**Anyways, review and tell me what you think! Are you glad that Isran is dead? Do you think Valor went too far? Do you think Isran was right? Tell me!**

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "Now you know why you must live. Because Winter is coming," –Three-Eyed-Crow. **


	49. Rikke III

Rikke

"Any reply from the Prince or the Legate?" Rikke had asked in the command tent.

"Both Prince Vaeril and Legate Dain have declared their movements. Also, Legate Edward of Winterhold is said to be making his way as well." One of Rikke's battle commanders told her.

They were at the plains of Whiterun, with around two hundred warriors and soldiers. Some were the Solitude guards; others were Legionnaires, although most happened to be townsfolk and other citizens that had been sent with Rikke to Whiterun. They could use every man they could get; Labyrinthian's walls were high, and the fortress would hold. The ancient fort may have been old, but it would serve the Draugr well.

They were a few miles away from the mountain passage that would lead them into Labyrinthian. Rikke had told the men to stop marching in the plains of Whiterun, as this was where they were supposed to meet the other armies. Rikke hoped they would make haste, the sooner they ended the Draugr threat, the better.

She could see the Whiterun capital from the military camp, or at least what was left of it. The city was burned; all that was left was charred wood. Rikke could still see a remnant of the dead bodies that were from the battle of Whiterun. Some had decayed, but others still laid there, a sign to all of the terrible battle that had taken place. Rikke even saw a few dead dragons, which deeply surprised her. What were dragons doing with the Draugr?

_It matters not, the Dragonborn is on his way. _Was Rikke's first thought when she saw them. Valor was on his way, the Legion's finest soldier. Rikke only hoped that he would be enough to storm Labyrinthian and take control of the fortress. Even though the Legion greatly outnumbered the Draugr, with the Legion bearing forty-thousand troops to the Draugr's ten-thousand; it did not mean they would prove useful against Labyrinthian's high walls.

Rikke was snapped out of her thoughts soon after by her commanding officers. Legates, officers, commanders, and captains were in the command tent this time, each putting in their two sense. Even Captain Aldis had come with Rikke, and his advice would prove useful. He understood his men better than anyone, and would know the guards strengths and weaknesses.

"Good, it should only take around a week for Legate Dain to arrive. Although the Prince may take up to two." Rikke said, finally paying attention to the conversation.

"Let us hope that these rumors of the Dragonborn returning are true, I saw those dragon corpses outside. How can we hope to defeat such beasts?" one of her Legates asked.

"Obviously if there are dragon corpses, then that means someone killed them. We have no record of the Dragonborn being present in the Battle of Whiterun, so all we can do is assume that regular soldiers brought down those beasts." Legate Rikke said.

"I hope you are right," Captain Aldis commented, "Only the Gods know what will happen if those Draugr have dragons defending them."

"Fearing dragons will get us nowhere," Rikke began, "We are Legionnaires, we do not run away or cower at the sign of a dragon. If the ancient's could kill dragons without a Dragonborn, then so can we."

"Your right," Aldis admitted, "No reason to fear the dragons. We just have to fight them like any ordinary enemy."

"That is where you are wrong, captain." Rikke began, speaking louder in order for everyone to hear, "Fighting the dragons the same way we fight soldiers will get us all killed. I am not saying to treat them like Stormcloaks; I am saying that you should not cower in fear over an overgrown lizard. Us Nord's have dealt with dragons in our history. These ones are no different."

"Aye, she's right." One of her officers said.

"Now, we have other business to discuss," Rikke began, "Labyrinthian is strong, it's walls are high. It will be a tough fight if we hope to get inside. Not only that, but most likely there will be a gate there. These Draugr will not easily be defeated, which is why we need to do something differently than normal. We cannot continue to use the same, 'Head for the gate' strategy that we have been."

"What are you saying?" one of her Legates asked, "How are we going to defeat the Draugr without getting inside?"

"I didn't say we weren't going inside, I said we have to fight differently. Our procedure during sieges has always been the same. Head for the gate! Archers make sure you cover! I don't think that will work this time."

"It has worked before, you are just speaking nonsense." Aldis said.

"Perhaps instead we should have a distraction, something to draw the Draugr's gaze away from the battering ram."

"Like what?"

"Ladders." Rikke said, "We have them, but we never use them. Well, I think it's time. If we put those ladders up, it will not only get men atop those walls, but it will take their attention away from the gate."

"Which means that the men will be able to bring down the gate easily." Aldis nodded, finally catching on.

"Exactly, those ladders could mean victory or defeat for us. It's time the Legion changed its tactics, and it's staring now. Officers, tell your men what I have discussed. And gave me a specific count on how many ladders we have."

"Aye, at once." Three officers said in unison, and all made their way down to the other tents. Rikke could hear them calling their men's attention from the command tent.

"Everyone understand? Good, now let's discuss something else." Rikke began, "I need you all to understand something, these are not Stormcloaks we're dealing with anymore. These are Draugr, they are fearsome, and will not stop fighting until they are sure defeat is certain. They will show no mercy, you folks have been away from the war for some time, but you will soon understand what we are dealing with here."

The commanders and Legates all nodded. Most of them had been excluded from this war, Rikke had been as well. But she had dealt with Draugr back in Korvanjund, she knew how they fought. She also knew how they could be killed.

"I hope you know what you're doing, Rikke." Captain Aldis said.

"I do." Rikke said, "I always do."

**Alright guys, I realize this chapter was short (actually the shortest chapter in the story) but I had absolutely NO idea what to write about, so I decided to show what Rikke and the small army at Whiterun were doing. The battle is coming, I have been waiting to write this one for some time. **

**If any of you have any possible idea of what I could write about for the next chapter that is remotely interesting than please tell me!**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "You will never walk again, Bran. But you will fly." –Bloodraven. **


	50. Valor VI

Valor

_Why do you continue to flee? There is no escape._

No tentacles were wrapped around him this time, instead the Prince of knowledge and fate decided to speak directly with his former champion. Although it was very one-sided, since Valor had no reply for the Daedra's remarks. Instead, Valor decided to try to flee, running away. But the Daedra's eye followed him always.

_Everyone you love will betray you. Everyone you trust will abandon you. _

Valor continued to run, but it was as if he was getting no further than he had before. Darkness surrounded him, and every once and a while Valor would look back and see if the Daedra was still behind him. And he always was.

_Do you think to escape me, Valor? You can hide nothing from me here!_

Then the tentacles lashed out, and caught the Dragonborn in their grasp. Everything seemed familiar after that, as they pulled at his arms and legs. As if Mora was trying to rip his limbs off. Valor shouted in pain, "Please stop!" he said, but the pain did not go away. Then, another tentacle went straight through his stomach with a great force, and blood spilled out like a river. Valor found himself doing something he never thought he would do, "Kill me!" he shouted, "Please!" not realizing he was in a dream.

_Not yet._

The tentacles released him, and Valor dropped to the ground. His wounds began to heal, and the great gash in his stomach was starting to close. His flesh was returning, and the pain in his arms and legs had stopped. But the eye was still there, ever watchful. Valor soon realized that Hermaeus Mora was not done yet, as once more his tentacles reached out and wrapped around his head, keeping him still. Valor did not try to resist, for some reason…he didn't want to.

_Look into the book, and all knowledge will be revealed. _

A Black book came before him in the grasp of the Daedric prince. The two tentacles that held it quickly opened the book and brought it right to Valor's eyes, making it completely visible. Valor could understand the words, even though he never spoke or read Daedric.

Images flashed, and once again Valor saw terrible actions and confusing visions come forth. At first he saw the gates of the Thalmor embassy, and Valor walked inside. Nobody was present, the place was completely abandoned. But Valor could hear voices in the distance, many voices, as if they were being called out from another land very far away. A sense of impending doom approached, until the next vision appeared.

He was taken to the torture chamber, a hidden section inside the embassy. Chains and cells designed to keep prisoners in their grasp were in abundance, as were torture weapons. Small knives, daggers, even maces and axes. He saw a flaying knife, as well as a place for heating hot coals. He felt as if he belonged there, as if he would return there soon, looking for something.

Then the home of the Thalmor disappeared, and to him came a great mist. He was not sure where he was, nor did he know what was happening. But he saw figures in the distance, and noticed that they were in fact Imperial Soldiers, and they were searching for something. Valor tried to help them, but they would not listen.

Then, everything went away, and he was back with Hermaeus Mora, and he soon found he was at the Summit of Apocrypha. Hermaeus Mora's domain seemed to be calling to him, asking him to return. He could see books falling form their overly large stacks, and seekers prowling the halls. He even swore he saw Sahrotaar, the beast whose will he had swayed long ago. And then he saw something else, something far too familiar but also far too different. An old enemy, whose will was revenge.

_The ones you love will betray you. Be afraid; be very afraid, for I am coming._

* * *

He awoke in the military camp, they had been traveling for three days, and the ride had been hard and exhausting. Valor had hoped that the journey would be easier than he remembered it being, but that turned out to be folly. Maneuvering through the terrain of Skyrim was just a troublesome as before, Valor had grown too use to the comforts of Fort Dawnguard, not that he wasn't glad to be away.

He awoke alone, he remembered Serana saying something about going out for a walk when Valor had awoken in the middle of the night, freaking out about his nightmares. It appears she had not been back since, Valor wondered where she could have gone.

He rose slowly, and let out a long yawn. He was still tired, but the Prince had made sure that everyone would rise early, because his chief officers were patrolling the military camp, shouting for everyone to mount up. Valor had better find Serana; he did not want to ride without her.

He donned his sword belt, but left his armor off. He did not need to be weighed down at the moment, even if his Ancient Falmer armor was light; it was still heavier than just being in clothes. It was not as if he had anything to fear…

_Then again, _he thought, _I should probably wear it. _He remembered what Hermaeus Mora had said in his dreams; _Even now the ones you love betray you. _What did that mean? Valor didn't know, but if Mora's words were true, then he had better wear his armor. Better to be safe than sorry.

After his armor was donned and he was ready, he began to walk around the camp. He turned his head left and right, hoping to find Serana somewhere around camp. He couldn't find her at first, but he did not panic or rush himself. She would be around here somewhere.

He kept on going, looking around to see if either Serana or someone else he could speak with was around. Finally after searching with no luck, Valor headed to the command tent, hoping to see if perhaps the Prince knew of where Serana would be.

It was not far, as it only took around ten minutes for Valor to find the command tent. Men around it were scurrying to head to their tents or to their horses. Healers were grabbing all their supplies and were packing all their things. And from the command tent emerged several Legates and commanders. _A session must have ended, _Valor thought, _but why wasn't I told?_

He waited for everyone to exit before he went inside. A few gave him a curt nod, and others gave him a hello. They had begun to respect him, many had begun to appreciate his abilities after they saw him kill the dragon during the battle of Riften. Valor soon went inside, lifting the flap leading into the command tent over his head.

Inside was the Prince, he was sprawled over the map of Skyrim like he always was. Valor could tell that still he had received no sleep. Valor took a few steps forward, and then he noticed that Serana was in the corner, sitting on a chair. She was reading a book, to which Valor could not see the title.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" Valor asked, slowly making his way to the woman.

Serana looked up at him and gave him a small smile, "Studying." Quickly rose from her chair and gave him a brief hug. Valor hugged her back, and then she sat back down in her chair handing him the book. "The Dragon priests." It was called.

"If we're going to kill a Dragon Priest, we might as well know enough about them." Serana said.

"I know enough about them already," Valor said, handing her the book, "But if you wanted to learn about them, you could have just asked me."

Serana shook her head with a smirk on her face, "And boost your ego while I gasp at your amazing tales of bravery and honor? I think not."

"Whatever…" Valor said playfully, turning to see the Prince looking at them, a slight look of amusement on his face. But Valor could tell something was wrong with him, he looked even worse than when Valor had spoken with him before the Battle of Riften.

_The stress and lack of sleep must be eating away at him. _Valor thought. "Amused, are you?" the Dragonborn asked.

"Aye, you two are an interesting pair." Vaeril said but soon his smile vanished, He was no longer Vaeril, he was the Prince of Cyrodiil again. "You two should get ready, we ride soon."

It did not take long for Valor and Serana to be atop their steeds once again. The soldiers had been ready, and had packed up all of the supplies. The tents were gone, as was everything else. And then they were back onto their journey again, it would be a week's long ride to Labyrinthian if they rode continuously without stop. But that would not happen, they would have to stop at least every night, in order for the soldiers to have proper rest.

They departed from their former campsite, and it did not take long for them to cross the border of the Rift and enter Eastmarch. The volcanic region of Skyrim had always fascinated Valor; he always found it wondrous and magnificent to look upon. Perhaps that was just him though, as some did not seem to share his tastes.

"Isn't this place great?" Valor asked Serana from atop his horse as they rode.

"It's okay, I guess."

"Okay? This place is magnificent, my favorite spot in Skyrim. You obviously have no taste in beautiful scenery." Valor said.

"Am I supposed to be offended" Serana asked playfully, "It's not really working when it's coming from the same guy who thought the Soul Cairn looked amazing."

Valor ignored that last comment and kept riding. The Soul Cairn _was a_n amazing sight, no matter what Serana said. If there were not souls and Daedra wandering the plane, Valor would have enjoyed it there. Valor's thoughts then went back to Valerica, who was still in the Oblivion Plane. _I told her I would come back for her after Harkon was dead, _Valor thought, _Maybe Serana would like to do that once this is all over. _

And then Valor couldn't help but wonder what was going on in Castle Volkihar. Now that Eleriand had killed Vingalmo, was Orthjolf the new lord of the castle? Valor found it likely, not only that, but he would probably kill Valor should he return. Orthjolf had hid it well, but Valor knew that the Nord had never liked him. Valor had preferred to conspire with Vingalmo, even though in the end the goal was to kill them all.

_That was back when I followed the Dawnguard, _Valor thought, _If I killed Isran and defended a vampire, does that make me a traitor?_

Valor quickly threw that thought away. He had done what was right; Isran had gone too far that time. He was growing out of control and Valor had to put a stop to it once and for all, before he killed Valor and Serana both. Like he had done to Eleriand.

_I told him to watch over Serana, to protect him from the Dawnguard. _Valor thought, _and he did just that. _Valor had never thought that Isran would do such a thing, Valor remembered the Redguard as an honorable man. Perhaps things had changed after a few years of dealing with the Volkihar vampires.

Then another thought came into Valor's mind, he realized one thing, Isran and Harkon were not that different. Both had become a crazed fanatic, blinded while trying to fulfill their goals for so long. Sure, Isran was doing what he felt was right, but then again, so was Harkon.

_I wonder if Serana misses her father. _Valor thought. He had never asked her, and wondered how she felt after years of both her mother and father basically being out of her life for good. _At least she knows her mother is alive. _Serana had never grown to truly love her parents, just like Valor. Perhaps that is why when they first met that Valor felt like he had something in common with her. Both of their fathers were fanatics, and their mothers had been more active in their lives.

Valor's father was truly a fanatic, thought he could prove to the human masses why the Elves were direct descendants of the Gods. He cared of nothing else except for his studies, sometimes Valor was even surprised that he spent enough time with Valor's mother in order to make him.

But then he grew crazed when Valor had been one year old, started to think everyone was trying to steal his work. Or at least that's what his mother had told him. She said he had gone so mad, that he ended up killing anyone that wasn't a stranger, thinking that they were coming to steal his work. Eventually this would prove to his disadvantage, as he lost in a fight with a Nord on the roads, and was killed. Valor could barely even remember his father's name.

_What was it? Oh yes…Thralin. _Valor thought. After his Nordic mother had died when Valor was a man grown, he had decided to become a sellsword. As it seemed that his life would be of no other importance. But it seemed that fate had different plans.

Valor was snapped out of his thoughts soon enough though, as Eastmarch was ending. They had been riding for hours, and now it seemed they were headed towards Valtheim towers, the bridge that bandits would usually encamp. Valor did not have to fear however, the Bandits would surely not give the Legion much trouble. Ten-thousand against twenty or so were not good odds.

Eastmarch was falling behind, and it was already night time. It seemed as if the Prince had no intention of stopping, which was odd. Usually he always gave his men the rest he deserved. _Perhaps he wants to get there quickly._

They rode through the night, and Valor could feel his eyes dropping, yet he did not want to sleep. Hermaeus Mora's words in Valor's mind had seemed to stop, but his influence in the dream world was still alive and well. Not only that, but his horse would not carry him while asleep, for who would guide it?

He held the reins firmly, and directed his steed along the roads, making sure he did not bump into any of his fellow Legionnaires. That would cause an ordeal he could go without. Valor turned to Serana, who seemed just as awake as ever. Even though she was no longer a vampire, Serana still seemed livelier at night. Perhaps it had become a habit? Valor was not sure, he had been a vampire once, yet he felt no different now in the daytime then in the night.

Another day passed without rest, and Valor knew that even his horse was beginning to tire. Even Serana looked as if she was about to dose off here and now. The other soldiers looked exhausted as well. Why was Prince Vaeril in such a hurry? Unless the Draugr were planning on leaving Labyrinthian, then there was no need to go without rest. Not that Valor wanted to anyways, he had gone through enough while asleep the past few weeks. Every time he slept his dreams had haunted him, although Valor would not admit it.

"Are we going to stop anytime soon?" one of the soldiers had said while they were riding.

"I don't know, but I hope so. I could use a good night's sleep." Another Legionnaire said.

Valor turned to Serana once again, "You alright? You look exhausted."

She tried to give him a small smile, but she looked very tired, "Yeah…very tired."

"Just hold on a little while longer, I'm sure we will stop soon." Valor said.

They didn't stop that night, and they rode through most of the day as well. By that time they had already passed Valtheim towers and were headed towards Whiterun. The capital was not far ahead, maybe half a day's ride at least. Serana had been so tired that Valor had to lag behind for a moment while she joined him on top of Valor's steed. They both rode together after that, allowing Serana to sleep while Valor held the reigns. The Dragonborn had been tempted to dose off as well, but he did not give in.

Finally, after the long ride, Whiterun Capital was visible. It was very distant, but he could still see it. Valor was shocked at the sight; the city was completely burned and looked nothing like it did before. The might and splendor that had been the tall keep of Dragonsreach was reduced to a pile of charred wood and ash. Valor swore he could hear the cries of the deceased as he officially entered the border into Whiterun. Serana was still asleep, so he could not get her reaction.

_I hope someone survived. _Valor thought, he prayed that out of everyone he knew on the large city, someone had managed to escape. He wondered whether his Companions had escaped, and how they were functioning without their leader. Or if any of the Battle-Borns or Grey-Manes had lived. Whether Ysolda the trader, Anoriath the Hunter, or Lydia his Housecarl had lived. Or Mychael, the soldier that Valor had met many times before. He wondered if anyone could have escaped with their lives. He hoped they had.

They had gone further down the road, the endless army following. Still they had not slept, and it was apparent that Prince Vaeril was trying to get to the camp as soon as possible. The host went down the small hills that encompassed Whiterun, and passed the burned signs that once told a traveler the directions to the next hold. Valor was horrified, and when they finally had to go through the burned wreckage of the outskirts of Whiterun, Valor couldn't take it.

All the farms were burned, their crops with it. Honningbrew Meadery was all but rubble. Only the stone walls of Whiterun had not suffered. The stables were gone as well, along with the towers and bridges near the Whiterun gate. The Imperial soldiers seemed troubled as well, even though most were from Cyrodiil, they still were mortified as they got a closer look than they did at the Battle of Whiterun.

They passed Whiterun slower than Valor would have liked. He did not wish to look upon the travesty that had been before them. The Legion made their way to the Whiterun plains, which thankfully looked just as they did before.

But as they delved deeper, they approached something that looked as if it was the remnant of a great battle that had taken place. Vaeril led the host around the wreckage, but Valor could still see the dead corpses. Dead men, dead Draugr, even the giant bodies of slain dragons had been there. Valor was glad he did not have to take part in a battle of this magnitude, and thanked the gods that the legion had come out victorious.

Then after days and days of rising without rest, Valor was filled with joy as what looked to be a small military camp was getting closer. Finally Valor would be able to sleep, and get some rest. _I don't care if Hermaeus Mora will be there, I need rest. Or I will be killed by Konahrik._

The men cheered when the camp was visible, they had gone without sleep for day, and probably longed for some well-deserved rest. When the whole host had gotten close enough, the Prince had come down from his horse, and commanded his soldiers to set up camp here.

The soldiers had taken their tents and supplies and set it all down right next to Legate Rikke's campsite. It took a long time, as there were many soldiers that needed to get ready. But after maybe an hour all of the men, including Valor had their tents ready. Serana had woken once they had arrived, and was still very tired from the looks of it. Valor did not want to deprive her of her rest, so he asked her to stay.

"Sleep, you need it." Valor said, being very tired himself.

"No…I'm fine. I want to go with you." Serana tried to be defiant.

"No," Valor said, "there is no need to trouble yourself, it's all boring anyways. All they do is talk about what direction their going to attack from and so on. You need to sleep."

"Fine," Serana said, "But don't be gone for too long." And it almost seemed like she was asking.

"I will be back in thirty minutes, okay?" Serana nodded, and Valor made his way to the center of the camp.

Most of the soldiers were going to sleep, but Valor and Vaeril stayed awake. Each making their way to meet Legate Rikke and discuss what was going to happen. It didn't take long, and Valor found himself getting closer and closer towards the Legate and the Prince, who were both conversing.

When she saw him, she tried to hide her joy, "Legate." She gave a nod, "It's good to see you again."

"Aye, you too." Valor said,

"We have been waiting both of your arrivals for some time. I have to say, I am surprised that you two made it here before Legate Dain did. No matter, he will be here soon. We have things to talk about."

"Make it quick," Valor began, "I'm tired."

W**ell, it was really just a travelogue in my opinion, but some of you may have enjoyed it. I just wanted Valor to get to Whiterun as soon as possible, so if writing a super long chapter (by my standards) is what it takes,, then I will do it.**

** By the way, I hope you guys aren't getting annoyed by the plethora of Valor POV's lately. I just really enjoy writing him, as he has been my favorite character ever since I carried him over from my original fanfiction.**

** Anyways, review if you want, but I just have to say. I believe that this story is the #8 most reviewed story with the Serana tag…even though this isn't a romance, and Serana isn't even in the story as much as I would like her to be, it still such a great honor! Thank you all for allowing this to happen! **

** ASOIAF quote of the day: **

** "Will you make him a song?" the woman asked.**

** "He has a song," the man replied. "He is the Prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." **

** -Rhaegar Targeryan and Elia Martell. **


	51. Rikke IV

Rikke

"As soon as Legate Dain and Edward arrive at their destination, then we will begin the assault." Rikke said.

"How far away are they?" the Dragonborn asked.

"Dain should arrive by midday, assuming he did not meet trouble along the road. Legate Edward should reach his spot on the other side of Labyrinthian within a few hours."

"Good, the sooner we can get this over with, the better." The prince said.

Rikke looked at both the Prince and the Dragonborn; both looked incredibly tired and out of energy. Vaeril looked worse though, he looked five years older than he currently was, with bags under his eyes. Not only that, but his eyes were bloodshot red, like they were burning. But Valor just looked tired; he looked like he wanted to sleep this instant. Rikke would have to hurry this up; she wanted her greatest soldier to have his energy before the battle.

"I see your men are readying the ladders, I don't remember General Tullius using those." Valor said.

"It's time for the Legion to take a new approach to battle. These ladders will help immensely, as you will soon learn." Rikke said.

"I hope so," Valor began, "if what my suspicions are correct, I think this battle will be a difficult victory."

"Difficult victory?" Vaeril said, "In your mind, we have already won, haven't we."

"How could we lose?" Valor started, "We outnumber them immensely, and once the gates are down, they will not be able to stop us."

"Hope so, or else this will be an even longer war then I planned." Rikke said, "Aside from that, we have other matters to speak of. The battle plans, you two have just arrived, so you are not caught up on everything."

"Go on." The Dragonborn said.

"Our host will be around thirty-thousand strong; the Prince's ten-thousand joined with Legate Dain's twenty-thousand. Our first move will be to advance on the gate, while we also bring the ladders up on the walls. While the Draugr are distracted, we bring down the gate with the battering ram. Meanwhile, Legate Edward's men will be on the other side of Labyrinthian, attacking from behind, and also will stop the Draugr from escaping."

"A brilliant plan, I just hope it works." The Prince said.

Rikke frowned, "It will, I know it will."

Rikke could only hope that she would be able to defeat the Draugr. Labyrinthian had served the Ancient Nords well back in the days of old, so Rikke was not surprised when she had received word of the Draugr's involvements there. She hoped the Legion could do justice for Skyrim, and end this war forever. Although Rikke was sure that the fate of this battle would not come down to her, but more likely the Dragonborn.

"If you will Rikke, I would like to-!" Valor the Dragonborn of legend had begun, but he had been interrupted when a courier stormed inside. He looked sweaty and tired, like he had come from a long way, and even a few specks of snow were on his peasant shirt.

"Ma'am, I have…word from Legate Edward, he has reached his destination and is encamped on the other side of Labyrinthian, and he awaits your orders."

"Good, this is good." Rikke began, "Stay here for a while until Legate Dain arrives, then I will send you back to tell the Legate when the time is right."

"Aye, at once." The messenger bowed, and left the tent, almost jogging outside. His words were good however, that meant that Legate Edward was in position. All they had to do was wait for Dain's arrival, and then they could begin the assault.

"As I was saying, I would like to see if I could possibly get some sleep now; it has been several days after all." Valor said.

"Of course, go and get some rest. We will awake you when you are needed."

Valor did not reply to Rikke's words, he only quickly made his way out of the command tent. Not even giving her or Vaeril one look. Perhaps he was in a rush; he did look very tired after all. Rikke had no problem with him wanting some sleep, as Vaeril's men arrived much earlier than expected.

That left only Rikke and the Prince. "I hope this battle goes well." He said.

"If the Gods will it, we will be victorious." Rikke replied.

"That's the problem, isn't it? Do the Gods will it?"

The Prince and Rikke stood in silence for a few moments. What if his words were right? What if the Gods did not wish for their victory? Rikke could think of no reason why they would do such a thing other than them growing tired of the Nords. Skyrim had gone through turmoil recently; perhaps this was the God's way of fixing Skyrim once and for all?

Vaeril left the tent soon after, to where Rikke was not sure. The Legate decided to get some well-deserved rest. She had not slept the night before, and even though she did not feel tired, she felt it was necessary. She made her way to her own tent, and not long after that went to sleep.

The next morning was nothing special. This day all of the soldiers were up and about, everyone had gotten a good night's rest and was ready to do the day's work. That mostly entailed getting supplies ready, sharpening and improving weapons and armor, or simply waiting for the battle to begin. Rikke was headed to the command tent when she heard the blast of a thousand horns. Rikke went to the edge of the military camp and saw the arrival of Dain's men.

They had lined up on the hills while the men in the back began to catch up. Rikke could see the figure at the head of the host and recognized the Legate at once. She had met him a few times, but did not know him well. But General Tullius had a high opinion on him, so Rikke expected a great deal from him.

The host advanced slowly, no longer in a rush. They were not horsed like Vaeril's men, or at least not all of them. Rikke assumed there was at least one-hundred mounted riders, with the rest being foot soldiers. Dain himself was upon a horse, and he along with his host came closer and closer to Rikke's camp. It did not take long, but eventually they had made their way just to the edge, and while his men set up their tents and greeted Vaeril and Rikke's men, Dain made his way to Legate Rikke.

"It was a longer ride then I anticipated, but we finally made it." He said.

"What took you so long?" Rikke said.

"The mountains slowed us down, plus a few Forsworn survivors. Other than that, we were unhindered."

"Good." Rikke said, as he led the Legate to her command tent. While there, she introduced him to all of the plans they had made, including the use of ladders and Legate Edward's presence from the other side of the fortress. It did not take long, and Dain seemed pleased with the change. After that, the Legate left, and Rikke was back inside, studying the map.

By the time midnight came, everyone was asleep, they would have to be ready for the attack that would take place the next day, but Rikke was still awake, sprawled over the map. Her finger traced over the ink that had marked Labyrinthian, and she hoped that they could defeat the Draugr tomorrow. But her attention waned when she heard a gust of wind, and a mingled sound of screams and shouts, and finally a roar, and the crackle of dragonfire.

**Short, but I wanted to write something. Anyways, hope it was bearable.**

** Anyways, sorry if you guys are getting upset of me constantly ignoring the other POV's, namely Mychael and Gweryan. I have tried to write in Mychael's POV at least three times and just couldn't do it. But I assure you, he is not done yet. But I hope you guys enjoy reading about Valor anyways, because he is currently my favorite character. and I hope Rikke is bearable as well.**

** So, if you guys really want a certain POV then tell me, otherwise I will keep on going with the current plan I'm on.**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Mhysa!" –People of Meereen. **


	52. Valor VII

Valor

When he had awoken from his short sleep he was greeted with dragonfire.

He ran outside, Serana had followed him, and together the two watched as the camp was under attack by dragons. One, two, no…three dragons had swooped down on thirty-thousand men and let loose their flames. Tents burned, men screamed while their flesh was eaten away, meanwhile the Dragonborn of legend just watched.

_Three…how can I kill three dragons? _Valor thought, he had never fought more than one at a time, and even then some of them posed a great challenge. Valor put his hand on the hilt of his sword, but Serana laid a hand on his shoulder.

"You can't, there's three of them!" Serana said.

"I'll be fine." Valor said, "Go and meet with Rikke and the Prince, get somewhere safe, hide, do whatever you can, just get out of harm's way."

"But I-!" Serana began, but Valor stopped her.

"Please," he said, trying to sound soothing, "I can handle myself; just find somewhere safe, anywhere."

Serana nodded, Valor knew she wanted to help, but this was Valor's field. Serana knew nothing of battling dragons, the only one she had fought was Durhnevir, but truthfully Valor had done most of the work.

The men that were living were screaming aloud, running in fear, a few that were Nords of Skyrim called out to the Dragonborn when they saw him, "Help us Dragonborn!" some called out, others begged "Please, save us!" Valor heard their pleas, but he was clueless, he didn't know where to start. Valor felt lost.

_The God's gave we one talent, killing dragons, and right now I don't even know what to do. _Valor thought, how could Skyrim put their faith in the Dragonborn if he could not do the one thing he had been prophesied to do?

Valor snapped out of his day dreams, and instead rushed forward, unsheathing his blade. Not that it would be of much use, a sword was not very effective against a dragon in the air.

Arrows went up, as the Imperial soldiers answered back to the dragon's wrath. But he great beasts were mostly unharmed; it was hard to hit a dragon while he was currently moving in the air. Each one brought destruction and chaos, and Valor was suddenly reminded of Helgen, and the day that Alduin had returned to the world.

Valor tried to pick a target, and kept his eye on one single dragon. Its spikes were long and jagged, and its scales were decorated with a light blue, mingled with a pale white. And when it opened its maw fire passed between its sharp teeth. Valor had seen many dragons, but none looked as menacing. She followed it with his eyes, and when the dragon flew closer, he made his move.

The Last Dragonborn summoned his inherent power and spoke the language of his kin, he drew one deep breath and let out the three words in a terrible roar, "FUS RO DA!" he shouted, and let out a force unseen to most eyes of Tamriel. Others heard his cry, and cheered at the sight of the Dragonborn, Skyrim's hero. Valor watched as the Dragoon was blown back midair, and crashed into many empty tents. Dirt was kicked into the air as the impact could be heard in Whiterun Capital. The Dragon rose on its hind legs and let out a threatening roar, then went back into the air, and landed not ten feet from the Dragonborn.

"Long have I waited to test your Thu'um, Dovahkiin." The dragon said, "Tonight we shall see how your voice compares to that of Konahrik's."

The beast let out a roar, and Valor felt as a gust of wind came with it. Valor jumped back as the Dragon snapped, attempting to grab him with its mouth. Valor readied his war spell, one of the few things he learned at the College of Winterhold. And soon enough the dragon showed its Thu'um, and let loose dragonfire; But Valor's ward caught it, and loosened the impact, until there was nothing left.

"Show me you're Thu'um Dovahkiin; let me feel your voice."

_Should I do it? _Valor thought, contemplating the idea that had just come in his head, _I have only done it once before…what if something goes wrong? _But Valor ended the contemplation when he was reminded of the travesty happening around him. Although most of the army still stood, the tents and supplies had been horribly burned and destroyed, and some soldiers had met their end as well. Valor did what he had planned to do, and once again let loose his voice onto his enemy.

"GOL HAH DOV!"

His voice had brought whispers into the air, and the sense of betrayal and obedience. The dragon looked at Valor, his face having a surprised look. He did not attack; instead he spoke and lowered his head as if bowing. Valor knew his shout had worked, the one gift that Hermaeus Mora had given him worked well.

"Your Thu'um has the mastery over Konahrik, I will bow to you." The dragon said, "How may I serve you, Dovahkiin?"

Valor quickly made his way forward, approaching the beast's neck. Valor did not say anything; he just climbed on top until he was sitting in the beast scaled neck. The scales did not hurt him or make him feel uncomfortable, and the dragon tried to look and see what he was doing.

"What is your name, friend?" Valor asked.

"The Dov call me Sahsunaar, Dovahkiin."

"Fly, Sahsunaar," Valor commanded, "Defeat my enemies."

"The _vokul _will be slain at your command, Dovahkiin."

And then in only a few moments the dragon leapt from its hind legs, flapping its wings at the same time, trying to reach the air, and embrace the one love of the Dovah, the sky. Valor held on, he did not want to fall to his death, that would not be a fitting death for the Dragonborn of legend.

Finally, when Sahsunaar had gone high enough, he was able to utilize his wings and take to the air, gliding over the massacre that was happening at the military camp below him. When some of the soldiers noticed that Valor was indeed riding the dragon, he heard officers and Legates shout out, "Don't hit the blue one! Don't hit the blue one!" the soldiers stopped focusing on Sahsunaar and instead let loose their arrows upon the other enemies.

The first dragon was not far, and the good part was that it did not realize that Valor and his dragon were approaching. It continued to stay stationary in the air, and Valor was ready, when he was close enough, Valor whispered loud enough for Sahsunaar to understand, _"Yol." _He said, and the dragon obeyed his command.

Sahsunaar opened his mouth, and from it came the familiar site of fire. They traveled far enough to hit the dragon, scorching its scales and causing it to roar in pain. "Attack it." Valor said, lightly pulling on one of Sahsunaar's scales, and the beast did just that. Sahsunaar glided forward, and crashed into the dragon with its feet forward, Sahsunaar's claws scratching and greatly cutting the opposing enemy. The opposing dragon tried to retaliate, but it was in too much pain, and when Sahsunaar ended the conflict with one bite at the dragon's neck, the first one was down. The men cheered down below, crying, "Dragonborn! Dragonborn!"

But the second dragon saw what happened, and it rushed forward. Valor was not looking and neither was his dragon when the enemy crashed against Sahsunaar. They were sent back in midair, and Sahsunaar almost crashed into the ground. Thankfully he was able to regain flight, saving the soldiers down below that would have been crushed. Arrows flew past as the Legion tried to give help, but it was not helping that much, and it was more of a nuisance then a help, as they did not manage to hit the dragon once.

Sahsunaar flew forward, as did the enemy, and eventually they were both locked together, the force of the collision almost causing Valor to fall. Thankfully he held on tight enough, but the two dragons were still going at it. Sahsunaar tried to scratch the beast with his claws, while the other tried lashing out his tail. Valor watched from atop his flying mount as the two were in a deadly fight, each snapping at each other's necks.

Finally the other dragon made the desperate move, and lunged forward one more time and tried to rip at Sahsunaar's neck. The dragon evaded for the most part, but the enemy still managed to crash into him again. Valor took the opportunity to help in this fight. When the dragon was close enough, he let out one single strike of his sword at the creature's head, stabbing downward. It did not go down that far, but far enough for Valor to have difficulty pulling it out. The creature let out one last roar, as it fell down and collided with the hard ground, and Valor swore he could hear the sound of the dragon's skeleton crushing.

And then both of the dragon's souls joined at their one destination. The energy that Valor was born to absorb had come, and to Valor it felt like a trophy for his victory. The Dragonborn imagined that it was a glorious sight, seeing him absorb two souls while also being on the back of a dragon. Valor felt stronger as the ordeal was done, and he felt full of energy, no longer did he feel tired, he felt like he could take on the whole Draugr army on by himself.

"Land." Valor said, and the dragon did just that, circling around a few times before finally picking a spot. They got closer to the ground, slowly at first, but then faster, until Sahsunaar thudded against the ground. Valor saved no time and quickly hopped of his neck, turning back to his new servant.

"Be free, Sahsunaar." Valor said, "Do not return here again, and serve the will of Konahrik no longer,"

"Your Thu'um has enlightened me, Dovahkiin. May your _Zahkrii _strike hard, and your voice echo throughout the ages." And those were the last words Sahsunaar spoke to the Last Dragonborn before he flew back into the sky, letting out a roar before he went away, his image fading, and then he was gone.

When he turned, everyone was staring at him, no one spoke, the fires burned on the ground, tens were on fire, and yet they all were stationary. _What are they doing? _Valor thought, but then when he was about to take a step they all let out cries of joy and happiness. Some cried and thanked him for saving their lives; others bowed, calling him, "The King of the Dragons!" Valor felt honored, but also awkward. Even when he defeated Alduin, Harkon, or Miraak, he had never received as much praise.

Prince Vaeril, Legate Rikke, and Dain all approached, Serana was with them too. The three walked closer, but Serana ran, not fast, but faster than a jog. _She is going to give me a hug and congratulate me. Or maybe a kiss, I think I earned one._

She slapped him.

Everyone went dead silent, the men stopped praising him, and the whole camp stopped speaking. "Hey, what was that for?" Valor shouted, although he didn't mean to. He looked to the others, Legate Dain had a plain expression, Legate Rikke was laughing, and Vaeril had a smirk on his face that said, _What were you thinking you were gonna get? _

"Riding a dragon? Are you crazy?" Serana was shouting now, and Valor was sure that everyone could hear her, "Do you realize the stress I just went through? Wondering whether you were going to be roasted by fire or maybe eaten!"

Valor was speechless, he wanted to say something, but had no refute to what she said. _Shouldn't she just be glad I killed the dragons? That's what normal people would do… _but Valor remembered Serana wasn't normal, just like him.

She then quickly wrapped her arms around him and began to squeeze very hard. She had not hugged him like that since he had almost been killed facing Harkon years ago. Serana stroked her hair slowly, while everyone watched. Then, the men continued cheering, and Legate Rikke and the others approached.

"What do we do now?" Rikke asked. Valor was shocked; she usually was the one making the decisions.

"The Draugr made their first move," Valor began, "Now it's time to make ours."

**I hope you liked it! I really enjoyed writing this one (It seems I always like writing Valor chapters, that's why there are so many of them) and this was the first time I ever wrote about dragons fighting amongst each other! I thought it was pretty cool and I hope you liked it!**

** SO I would just like to say that I posted two chapters today, I say this because on the days when I post two, people tend to only read the second one. I MADE TWO PEOPLE! Just wanted to make sure you all knew that.**

** SO guys, let's all review! My new goal is 150, if I got that I would be a very happy 14 year old child. **

**ASOIAF quote of the day: "Winterfell remained, it was not dead, just broken. ****_Like me, _****Bran thought, I****_'m not dead either."_**


	53. Vaeril

Vaeril

The walls of Labyrinthian were high, and very threatening, but the Prince felt a strange sense of calmness about him. The men did not share the same trait however, despite the fact that they greatly outnumbered them, the men still feared the Draugr. Vaeril did not however, today was the last day, and after today they would end the Draugr threat once and for all, and Vaeril would take revenge for the death of his sister.

_They took her from me, now I will exact my revenge. _Vaeril thought, he had killed many Draugr, but he was still not satisfied, but this battle was enough to end his hunger once and for all.

They were not on horses today, as mounted archers and soldiers would have much trouble climbing the ladders and bringing down the gate. Most of the soldiers had been swordsmen, or archers, but there were also a few healers that had come as well, along with pike men. They were a diverse force for the most part, and battle was calling for them. Vaeril would answer the call with death and blood soon enough.

He was in the head of the host, along with Legate Rikke, Legate Dain, and the Dragonborn. The woman Serana had not come; much to Vaeril's dismay. She did not seem like the type to stay behind while battle was waged, but perhaps the Dragonborn had done something to convince her. Vaeril was not sure, but perhaps it was better if she did not fight. He could tell just by the way she rode that she was not very skilled in the art of warfare, despite her arcane abilities.

_I see fear in his eyes, _the Prince thought, _He fears the rider that I spoke to in the Battle of Whiterun, I would fear him too. _It was already assumed that Valor would be the one to destroy the mysterious warrior. Vaeril did not know much about warrior, but from what he had seen, the Dragonborn was the only one who would have a chance against him.

"How do you feel?" Vaeril asked him

"Fine."

"Do you have a plan?" the Prince asked.

"A plan? Well…I will go in there and kill the Dragon Priest."

"Sounds good enough to me," Vaeril said, "What if he hides? How will you find him?"

"I already know where he is."

Vaeril said no more, he assumed that the Dragonborn knew what he was doing. He was a prophesied hero of legend after all, if he did not know what to do, then who would?

"They are just staring at us." Rikke commented.

"If they will not make the first move, then we will." Vaeril said, "Sound the horns."

"Horns!" Legate Dain shouted.

The thousands of men all raised their arms, a personal war horn in their hands. Vaeril could hear them all take a deep breathe, and put the horn to their lips and blow. The sound was loud and echoed throughout the mountains of Skyrim. _It sounds like victory, _Vaeril thought, _when the battle is over, we will sound the horns again. _

When the blasts had ended, the men put down their horns and readied themselves for their next command. Vaeril said nothing, and neither did the others, they waited. And from the top of the walls one of the Draugr looked down at the army, his body completely covered in black armor, smoothened with sand and looked new and prettier than Vaeril's own. _"Duaan!" _he said, and the others repeated, and then it became a chant, the words coming in unison. _"Duaan! Duaan!"_

"It means 'Devour'," Valor said, "In the Dragon tongue."

Then they stopped, and the two armies were all in silence. Vaeril did not make a command, and his fellow leaders did not as well. Vaeril's eyes wandered along the long walls, inspecting all of the Draugr that he could see. He wondered what Legate Edward was doing on the other side, and if he had gotten the courier's message.

_"Daanik!" _the leader said, and the others once again chanted the words. This time louder, and more fearsome than ever before. Their voices echoed throughout the air, the words still ringing in Vaeril' ears. Something about the word irked him, made him feel very uneasy.

_"Daanik! Daanik! Daanik!" _the Draugr continued, doing nothing else. It was as if they were trying to scare them away, or dampen their spirits. _Whatever their doing, its' working. _

"Doomed." Valor said, "It means doomed."

Then the words came faster, and then faster, and louder as well, until Vaeril couldn't hear his own thoughts. Ten-thousand Draugr were shouting in their guttural language, and the Prince turned around to see that the men felt uneasy as well. Fear was in their eyes, and the Prince understood why, the Draugr were threatening when in large numbers. _Even alone they are threatening. _

_"Yol!" _the leader shouted, the rasp in his ancient voice would haunt even the greatest of warriors. And then the Draugr stopped their chanting, reaching for their bows. Simultaneously the all nocked their arrows, drawing back the string; the sound of a thousand bows being readied for fire was all around. "Archers, to your spots!" Vaeril shouted, but it was too late.

Arrows stormed down from the high walls of Labyrinthian down to the snowy floors of the mountains. Men shouted in terror, others screamed when they were hit. The Legion archers rushed for their spots in front of the rest of the host, some made it, but others were brutally shot down.

Finally, after a minute or so, the Imperial archers had lined and were already replying to the Draugr with their own arrow fire. Then, the sky was filled with arrows. Thousands here and thousands there, Vaeril himself had to hold his shield up in order to avoid being pierced by the work of the ancient Nordic forge masters. Dozens fell, then perhaps hundreds. It had become a blood bath down below, and anyone who did not have a bow was caught in the middle.

"Get the ladders up!" he heard Legate Rikke shout, and the men obeyed her command. From the back of the host came dozens of men carrying large wooden ladders, tall enough to bring them to the top of the walls of Labyrinthian. The men rushed forward, still carrying the ladders forward, some being struck down by arrows, but most still lived to tell the tale.

When the men were close enough, they all lifted the ladders slowly. Five or so ladders were pushed up the top of the walls. Still more men were coming from behind, carrying even more. When first wave of ladders hit the walls, the men began to climb. _It would take a lot of strength to push those ladders down, _Vaeril thought, _they will be safe for now._

They climbed, and they climbed. Vaeril saw some of the Draugr attempt to push them down, but the weight of the ladder and the men on it was too great for one to push, even an undead Draugr. Arrows were still being traded amongst the two forces, forcing the Draugr to pay less attention to the men coming to the walls and more on the archers.

Then, the first few soldiers had gone up, swords swinging. There were only a few, so the Draugr did not have to worry too much at first. But then Vaeril saw as groups of two and three Draugr were heading towards the ladders, pushing them down. "Look out!" one of the soldiers shouted, as the wooden construct came down, crushing the few unfortunate soldiers beneath it.

More ladders were pushed down, but more went up as well. Soon enough the Draugr had to multitask, being forced to fire at the archers and respond to the ladders as well. Then, the final card was drawn, when the Prince let out the last command that would be needed, "Bring the battering ram!"

From what the few soldiers that were from Skyrim told him, Labyrinthian was not built with a gate, it was actually meant to be a city. But as the Draugr encamped themselves there, they began to make modifications, the biggest being the construction of a gate. This one was made of wood, as it would take less time to make then one of steel or stone.  
Then the ten or so men that held the battering ram marched forward, arrows flew past them, and one almost hit the Prince himself as he watched. The soldiers took their time, not rushing at all. Vaeril would be patient, they would get there unharmed, he knew they would.

Swords clashed and blood spilt from the top of the high walls of Labyrinthian to the ground below. Men fought above, and archers loosed their arrows below. The amount of Draugr archers had changed once more Imperial soldiers had gotten to the walls. Vaeril would say at least twenty were at their destination, rendering the Draugr's archers unable to focus on the archers, as they were too concerned with the men in the fortress. Because of this, the battering ram was arriving at the gate almost without challenge, and Vaeril shuddered at the thought of what might be inside.

"Once that gate is down," Valor said while right next to the Prince, "The true battle will begin."

More ladders were pushed down, and more men fell to their deaths. But more went to take their place, scaling up the fortress and onto the walls. If they were lucky their ladders was not pushed over, or they were not hit by arrows. The battle was full of chaos so far, but the Prince kept his eyes on the battering ram, "Forward!" he shouted. It would benefit them that they get closer, in order to rush in as soon as possible.

Then, after ten minutes or so, the whole host was eagerly waiting for the gate to be rammed down. Vaeril watched closely, keeping an eye on the state of the gate, predicting when the time would come and it eventually would give out. The first ram came quickly, "Heave!" they shouted, and the men let out a slight shout as the ram made contact with the wooden gate. "Heave!" they said again, and then again, again, and then again. It took many tries, as a gate of this size would not go down quickly; the doors were large and were shut tight, it would take many tries to bring them down.

_It seems that the ladders worked after all. _Vaeril thought to himself in the last moments before the gate would surely be broken down.

Then, it was done. One last heave and the ram connected with the wood one last time, and a loud crack came about as the gate sprung open. Vaeril was not surprised by what was inside; Draugr. Thousands and thousands and thousands more, Vaeril had no doubt that this was the true ten-thousand Draugr that were said to be encamped inside. They stared the men down, not bothering to move, standing very still and looking threatening as ever.

"Forward!" Vaeril shouted,, and Valor repeated him, "Forward!" the Dragonborn shouted, and part of the host rushed inside the open gates, Legate Rikke and Dain among them. As Vaeril went inside, he could see arrows flying past the walls on the other side as well. Legate Edward as starting his assault as well. _The Draugr will not escape us, this is the end. _Vaeril thought. He hoped this would be the last battle, as he had gone through enough in the past weeks.

The two forces met in a clash of wills, the men fought with strength and tenacity, while the Draugr fought with death and destruction. A few knew the arcane arts, and wielded the power of fire, frost, and lightning against the Legion. Vaeril himself had been amongst the scrimmage, striking any foe who dare stepped before him. Yet he kept a careful eye around him, so he was not killed by behind or in a blind spot.

Soon enough Legate Rikke and some of the men had branched to the eastern side of the fortress, as she led them into battle. Legate Dain had also branched outward and was engaging the eastern side of the city, and Prince Vaeril and the Dragonborn were stuck in the middle.

The city was magnificent, and Vaeril could have truly appreciated it had they not been in a huge battle of this scale. It was clearly made thousands of years ago, but the craftsmanship was remarkable, Vaeril had no idea that the ancient Nords were as skilled in building. But he was snapped out of his thought soon enough when he was knocked down by someone.

He turned and saw the leader of the Draugr at the walls. Valor could not see his eyes, as they were covered in the armor, and Vaeril wondered how the Draugr could see him, but he stopped soon enough when the undead warrior brought down his blade at Vaeril's direction. He rolled to the left, almost being stepped on by his own soldier. Then, he rose quickly; and wasting no time he brought his sword with him, slashing upward, landing at the Draugr's bony chin. He did some damage, but not enough to slay the beast. The Draugr retaliated with his own blow, stronger and more deadly than the one before. Vaeril raised his shield and caught the blow, the strength out a dent where the Imperial Legion symbol had been.

Then the Prince sent two strikes at his enemy, one at each side. The Draugr had been knocked back and stumbled awkwardly. Vaeril took this as an opportunity and bore down his sword at his enemy, pressing it deeper and deeper inside. The Draugr did not say anything; he just sat on the ground, not moving, until Vaeril assumed he was dead.

_Good thing he's gone, he was a scary one. _Vaeril thought, but then the Dragonborn ran up to him soon after, sparing no time as he talked quickly.

"My lord, I need to seek out the Dragon Priest."

"If you know where he is then go, I will not keep you from doing your duty." Vaeril tried to shout over the noise.

The Dragonborn had no reply, he only gave the Prince one last nod before he rushed through the battle, and was headed to a small building in the center of the fortress. It was not large by any means, and looked run down, Vaeril could not see any chance of the Dragon Priest being in there, but he would trust Valor's judgment.

He turned his attention to the battle, paying attention to the important part. He could not pick out one clear winner, as the fight looked pretty even from where he was standing. Although Vaeril was shocked at how the Draugr were fighting, they fought with a new strength that the Prince did not see before. As if they were truly fighting for something, or someone. Perhaps Vaeril would never understand why, but he did not want to either.

He rejoined the foray, providing assistance to any soldier he noticed that needed it. Yet he felt tired, very tired; he had not slept in many days, and the very little energy that he had was drained form him. His strokes and slashes grew slower and less powerful, until he was panting and breathing very heavily. He began to have trouble breathing, and when he felt he spear launched into his back, he fell.

He didn't know what happened, or who threw the spear, all he knew was that it hurt, very much. He tried to rise, but the pain was too severe. He fell again, hitting his head this time, then, everything went blurry. He couldn't see as well, but he could hear and feel everything, like the blood spilling from his body. Then he saw a shadow over him, and he knew it was one of the Draugr. He didn't see them, but he heard the men shout, "The Prince! Help the Prince!" but it was too late, and when the second spear was bore on him, he felt like he was slipping away.

_I did her justice, _Vaeril thought, _I avenged you, Elizabeth. _Then, Vaeril thought of his father, and what he would say when his only heir was killed for people he didn't even know. _No, not his heir, his son. _Vaeril was the Dragon's son, child of the Emperor, he was supposed to inherit the Mede name after his father died, but that fate was gone now. He had chosen a different route, but he regretted none of it. Vaeril liked to think he saved many lives with his arrival to Skyrim, and in his last moments he thought of the Dragonborn. _He will win…I know he will. _And then the darkness of the void finally claimed him.

**…This chapter was fun, but it was also sad at the same time. It probably doesn't help that I was playing the Game of Thrones soundtrack while writing this, and I for one think that the song "Heir to Winterfell." Is very depressing.**

** I hoped you guys liked it, and I hope that you also don't get mad at me for killing someone else, but it had to be done. Vaeril's fate was decided before I even began writing, R.I.P. Vaeril, the true savior of Skyrim.**

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones?" –Varys. **


	54. Valor VIII

Valor

As he headed towards the barrow in the middle of Labyrinthian, he heard the cries of several soldiers, "The Prince has fallen! The Prince is dead!" he did not turn back though. Valor had a job to do that would affect the fate of Skyrim as he knew it, he could not waste any more time then he already had.

The cries began to fade and the sound of steel clashing drowned his ears once again. Battle was all around, but not inside the small barrow that was right in front of him. It was like a large mound, built of stone. It had decayed overtime, and now just had a round shape where once it may have looked more majestic. Valor did not take too long admiring the architecture however, as he quickly ran inside.

It was run down, as were many of the building inside Labyrinthian. Skeletons lay on the floor, some still clutching weapons, or reaching for them before their life was ended. Valor walked carefully, trying not to step in them, and turned the round corners until he came upon the main area of the burrow. Not much was inside, except for one more skeleton and one dead frost troll that were on the ground. The skeleton had met death upon a large structure that looked as if it had been desecrated many time before. The outlines of many different faces stood out, but none were very visible. Valor then identified the item he had been searching for.

In the skeleton's clutches was a wooden mask, similar to the one that Valor had seen in his dreams. He bent down, snatching it out of the dead man's hands, sparing no time. This war had taught Valor that a dead man was just as dangerous as a living one.

He lifted the mask to his eyes, staring at it. _It's the same one from my dreams. _If it was indeed the same one, then Valor knew what he must do. He recalled back, when he was in the Dragon Shrine, and the mask was on Valor's face, only slightly burning. He couldn't recall what had happened afterwards, but he didn't care. Forgetting all of the dangers he had feared, he did what he knew was right, and brought the mask to his face.

It did not fall; it stuck to Valor's face due to some kind of magic. But his face did not burn as well like it did in his dreams, instead he felt as if he was somewhere else, gone from Labyrinthian. The cries of the soldiers and the sound of war had faded, and instead he heard silence. He went to remove his mask, but instead his hand was slightly burned. He grimaced and learned to never do that again.

As the mask was on, vision went through his head just like they had in his dreams. But this time they were not visions of the future, or the future's possibilities, but the past. He saw himself and Serana, slaying Harkon together with Auriel's bow, and then he saw Eleriand killing Vingalmo in Castle Volkihar. But then the visions went back even further, and he saw himself in the Battle of Windhelm, striking down Alianor straight in the heart. Then when he had brutally killed Ulfric Stormcloak in his anger. But the visions finally had gone back to when Valor was a child, when he and his mother were heading to nearby cities begging for food and board. Everything had come back to him, and he felt overwhelmed.

The visions stopped soon after that, and Valor went to take the mask off again, and this time it allowed him. When it was finally off his face, he noticed that he was indeed no longer in the battle, but somewhere else, that looked very familiar. He saw the shrine of the Dragon priests that had also been in his dreams, and the masks that were on their respected busts. He pulled them all off, _something _had told him to do so. Finally, when the deed was done, he had the nerve to put the mask on again, and he knew he was somewhere else, when he heard voices.

He pried the mask off this time, hearing it fall to the ground as he studied the area around him.

It was not a room, as there were no walls, instead the area around seemed endless, wore that he could hear voices beckoning for him as he looked. The clouds that he _could _see were the shapes of faces long dead, or at least that was what Valor assumed. He could hear the voice of dragons and the sound of their Thu'um, the flap of their wings and power of their souls, yet he saw none. The floor was made of stone, and yet Valor got the sense that there was nothing underneath. Inside the stone were carvings and drawings from the ancients which looked like it was related to the dragons. He saw great wings, priests, and dragonfire. He could read the words, but the pictures remained a mystery. _"Here is our savior, the one who would kill the evil one, the devourer of dragons." _The words said, _"None shall rival his glory."_

"So, the Devourer has finally arrived." A voice called out.

Valor looked directly forward, and although he did not see someone before, he now saw the one he was seeking. The Dragon Priest Konahrik stood without fear, his blade in its sheathe. He seemed threatening enough, his armor was covered in gold and black, while his mask looked as if two tusks were protruding from it.

"I knew you would come, it would be against your character not to." He said, his voice reminded Valor of Miraak. It wielded the same confidence, yet Konahrik sounded more threatening, his voice possessing a dry rasp that made him seem more of an enemy then before.

"It seems fate has brought us here, the will of a Daedra is not one to be trifled with. I have no doubt this was all part of his plan."

Valor still did not say anything, although he would admit, Konahrik was not intimidating him as much as he did in Valor's dreams.

"Still nothing to say? No matter, Hermaeus Mora's wishes will become law no matter what you or I have anything to say about it." Konahrik said, "The final pieces have been set, Hermaeus Mora has been playing us both, this was all part of his plan, no doubt."

"What do you mean?" Valor asked, instantly thinking that was a stupid question.

"The game is coming to a close. Mora has guided us both to each other, and I have no doubt he is eagerly waiting to see who will be the victor here today." Konahrik said, "Unfortunately for you, I believe he favor's me."

"How did you come to interact with Hermaeus Mora?" Valor asked.

"A good question, Dragonborn." Konahrik said, "It would be what all seek from the Lord of knowledge and fate. After I had risen by the will of ones I cannot yet explain, I eagerly searched for knowledge of what had happened when I was gone. This search had led me to Hermaeus Mora, who told me of Alduin's return, and the one who had slain him. With his help I raised an army large enough to conquer Tamriel, and yet still my conquest was thwarted by those who opposed me."

_Get to the point. _Valor thought, yet he did not dare say it.

"Little did I know that Mora had you in his grasp the whole time, while I searched feverishly for the one who had slain my master and my God. But it seems now you have come to me, as I had expected."

Valor stayed silent, he wanted to hear more yet he did not, he…was not sure what he wanted.

Konahrik began to pace back and forth, staring at the words and pictures carved into the ground below them. Valor's eyes followed him, the Dragon Priest could strike at any time, yet so far he had done nothing.

"Do you know that the ancient Dragon cult prophesied that there would be one who would challenge, and ultimately defeat Alduin, our God? He was said to be gifted with the ability to devour a dragon's soul. He was commonly referred to as the devil, the evil one, or the Devourer." The Dragon Priest began, "It was also said that there would be one to avenge the death of Alduin, to seek out the Devourer and wage war against him. The one who would defeat the Dragonborn was said to be one of the beloved Dragon Priests. And after commune with my brothers, they all came to the conclusion that _I _was that savior."

"A savior?" Valor asked, almost disgusted, "You have done nothing but end innocent lives for your religious _quest."_

"True, many lives have been sacrificed in order for a God's revenge to be brought down to you, Devourer; yet I am not the only one who has killed innocents." Konahrik said, "Your war against the Stormcloaks cost many lives, perhaps you remember your good friend, Alianor? A delicate one, yet you killed her all the same to further your own goals."

Valor felt like he had just slapped him across the face. "How do you know about that?"

"You would be surprised at the amount of knowledge I have gained concerning you, Devourer. I know everything that has happened in your life, I know about your parents, your childhood, your past lovers, your current lover, I know everything about your past. And I know your future as well, it has already been set."

_Does he mean to scare me? _"The God's protect me; my future is safe from you or Mora."

Then, Konahrik laughed, and it sounded terrible. It rang through his head and began to give him a light headache. Valor stared at the priest, and as he laughed Valor wondered what he looked like beneath that mask.

"Your false Gods cannot save you. The will of Alduin and the dragons will come to fruition. Haven't you realized by now? Nothing can save you. I figured you would have learned that by now." Then Konahrik paused, "Mora will claim you either way, no matter who is the victor here, he profits. He cares not for you or me, it does not concern him who lives and who dies, only whose soul he will claim next. The Daedra are all evil beings, had I not needed his help, I would never have been caught into his web of lies and empty promises."

Valor felt a strange sense of similarity between himself and the Dragon priest, although he would not admit it. Both had been tricked and fooled into serving Mora, not realizing the consequences later would be severe.

"Mora will not kill me, he can'tkill me." Valor blurted out, yet he instantly knew that was not true. Valor feared what Hermaeus Mora would do to him if he got his tentacles back on the Dragonborn.

"Miraak said the same thing when he rebelled, he was powerful, far more powerful than you, he could have served Mora faithfully and well, yet that did not stop the Daedra from doing what he wanted."

"I defeated Miraak, I was the superior." Valor said.

"You defeated no one. Hermaeus Mora had already defeated Miraak before you even arrived at Apocrypha. Miraak had already been mentally bested by Mora before you two crossed swords. At full power he could have rivaled me, but he was also a Devourer, and destined to be destroyed."

Valor had no reply to what Konahrik had said. Was he right? Had Valor only triumphed over an already defeated enemy? Was he really as powerful as he had led himself to believe, or was he just another pawn in Mora's game?

"I see the conflict in your eyes, Devourer; you know what I say is true. Miraak was betrayed by his master, _you_ did not best him. You will not best me as well, and with your soul I will fulfill the will of my long dead brothers, and claim vengeance for Alduin."

_My soul? How can he…_Then Valor remembered the dream, when he had been stabbed by the priest and he saw his soul being absorbed. Valor did not hesitate and drew his steel, getting into a fighting stance; he would wait for his enemy to make the first move.

Konahrik then also unsheathed his blade, and Valor saw as it looked to be forged from Dragonbone. It did not take long, but soon enough some spell had been activated, and fire had circled around it, engulfing it in flame. "Behold, Dragonfire; my blade. You will find out its affect soon enough."

The Priest walked forward very slowly, taking long, wide steps. Valor did not move, he just kept his sword up and waited for his enemy to strike. He was always on the defensive during the beginning of a battle.

Konahrik stopped walking, and stared Valor in the eyes; he was not ten feet away. Valor wondered what the Priest's eyes looked like; he imagined them disturbing, and very threatening, full of anger and hate.

Then, it began.

Konahrik did not spare any more time, summoning his strength and leaping forward with great momentum. His sword came down with him, but Valor had leapt to the side, dodging the blow entirely. Even though the sword did not strike, the flames did. Valor had been slightly burned in his left arm as he had dodged the blow.

Konahrik saw this, and as Valor was looking around to find his enemy, he soon noticed that the Dragon Priest was to his left, looking at him with what would seem as amusement. Then, his fist came forward, and what seemed like the teeth of dragons was upon them. His blow landed right in Valor's face, and knocked him back, cutting his face.

"Slaying Alduin was a great deed, but you will find I will not be as easily defeated as my master."

Valor then began to rise slowly, drops of blood running down his face from his cheek. He could not feel the pain for some reason, yet he knew that the blow was not a soft one. His hands felt where he had been hit, there were three small cuts, but as he touched them they began to hurt immensely.

_Son of dragons…Dragonborn _

The voices came about as he felt the injury, and Konahrik just stood and watched. Valor could sense the arrogance in the Priest. He had thought Valor was already defeated, when the battle had just begun. _It's only just begun, he hasn't won yet. _

Valor wasted no more time, and sprinted forward this time, conjuring the little energy he had with him. His steps were long and he was running very fast, and soon enough he had brought his blade down with a great force. He closed his eyes and felt the sword thud, and heard the clash of steel against Dragonbone. He looked and saw their blades locked together, and Konahrik looked to be even more amused by the sound of his voice.

"This has been fun, Devourer, but it has gone on long enough." And then the Priest raised his hand and cast a spell that Valor had never seen or known before. Energy came about, and Valor felt himself launched back, being burned at the same time. He did not feel a terrible pain, as not many flames had lashed out, but the armor he wore had been scorched at the chest plate. He skidded across the stone, scrapping some of the skin on his arms that were not covered.

When eventually he had stopped moving near the edge of the stone floor, he looked downwards and saw that there was indeed nothing beneath, just the same clouds made of faces that he had seen above. Valor immediately jumped up and got as far away from the edge as possible.

"I wonder what your people will think once they learn their precious hero was defeated." Konahrik said, "I wonder how many will try to join me. How many do you think? They all will realize the error of their ways, and the Dragon cult will be restored once again. They will rule over Tamriel, and no one will be able to stop them."

"I'm not dead yet." Valor said.

"You will be; you are a dead man walking." The Priest began, "Perhaps after you are dead I will reanimate you, and you can be my undead servant. You could punish the people, who rebel, kill them all for me. Wouldn't you like that? To serve the dragons, your brethren?"

_He's speaking nonsense. _Valor thought. He would never serve the dragons; they brought nothing but death and destruction to the world.

"I will never serve the dragons, all they bring is death, and they are dangerous and deadly creatures." Valor said.

"If all they bring is death, and they are dangerous," Konahrik began, "Then what does that make you?"

Valor had never thought of that, and then the words rang in his mind just as Miraak's did not long ago. _What does that make me? _He thought. Was he just as deadly and dangerous as the dragons? Was he a threat to the safety of Skyrim and Tamriel?

Konahrik watched Valor, making no notion that he was about to strike. Valor contemplated in his head what he should do next, he could try to strike with his blade again, but that would do no good. He would have to keep away from that blade; else it would absorb his soul.

He made a decision. If he was truly just like the dragons in not only spirit but in mind, then he would do as they did. He would fight with power and strength, worrying not who he was facing, and as he embraced their language one more time, he shouted the words, "YOL TOR SHUL!"

Fire erupted from Valor's mouth, the words bringing power and destruction. Flames engulfed his enemy, and when Valor watched a smirk crept across his face, the true battle had begun; now it was time.

When the fire had diminished, he saw Konahrik standing unscathed, a ward spell up and ready from his hands. Valor's smirk died on his face, replaced by a frown of disappointment.

"A good display, but your effort is in vain." Konahrik said, "Your Thu'um is strong, yet not as strong as I had imagined it would be."

_Does he mean to mock me? _"You will know it's true strength soon enough." Valor said.

"Ah, the ego comes out. Perhaps the battle will grow more interesting now that you have your confidence." Konahrik said, "It will do you no good, however. But be it as it may, the battle will be far more interesting."

Then, Konahrik answered back with his own Thu'um, and as he shouted out the words, " FO KRAH DIIN!" then, a blast of frost came forward, quickly with great speed and momentum. Valor was still, not sure what to do, but it was too late, the cold had come forward, and caused Valor to stumble backwards while his body began to numb. Valor began to panic while on the ground, _Get up! You can't die, get up! _ But it was as if his body would not respond to his commands. He could do nothing, and as he felt his blade fall from his grasp, he knew he had been defeated.

"Rise, Devourer; I expected more from you." Konahrik said, "I grow bored, get up and fight with the power you were said to possess."

Eventually, his senses came back to him, and gradually over time he was allowed to move again. He rose very slowly this time, not rushing at all. Valor felt defeated already, he knew not of what to do. Konahrik was too powerful; Valor knew he could not stop him. _Was I truly meant to die here? Am I really the devil he thinks I am? _

"I can see it in your face, you have already been defeated." The Dragon Priest began, "How could one like you defeat my master, Alduin?"

Then Valor began to question if he was as truly powerful as people claimed him to be. The Greybeards had been amazed with his voice, Harkon had feared him, and Hakon and the other heroes of Sovngarde had put their faith in him. But now he felt powerless, was this all part of Mora's plan? Did he mean for Valor to be killed by Konahrik?

"I expected a better fight from one like you, Devourer. It seems that you were not as powerful as Mora said you were. Then again, the Prince is full of lies, he fooled me into thinking you could match my strength. How foolish of me to believe him."

When he was back on his feet, Valor went to pick up his sword, but he knew it would prove useless to him. He could not defeat Konahrik in this state. Perhaps the prophecy was true after all, maybe his death was destined. Perhaps he would finally be _rewarded _for his service to Mora like Miraak had said.

"How disappointed your friends will be once they learn of your fate. And what would Serana think? I am sure she will feel betrayed, the one who told her she would never be alone again. She will curse your name most likely, for breaking your promise."

_What did he just say? _Valor thought, but he did not say anything. Konahrik's constant mocking was really making Valor angry. He tightened the grip on his blade, and then ran forward, sprinting. Konahrik was waiting for him, and at that moment when he had dealt that particular strike, he felt the Priest slice across Valor's chest with Dragonfire. Flames scorching he area that had already been cut. Valor fell down around five feet away from the Priest, falling to his knees first. He looked down and saw the huge gash across his chest. The blade had cut through his armor and done great damage to his chest. Valor didn't want to fight anymore; he just wanted to lie there in defeat.

Then, Valor felt as if something was leaving him, making his weaker. He didn't know what it was until he saw parts of what seemed to be his soul leaving his body and going into Konahrik's blade. It felt like it did when Serana had taken some of his soul to enter the Soul Cairn, for the brief days he had cured himself of vampirism while looking for the Elder Scrolls.

"I am very disappointed, Devourer." Konahrik began, "Even in his state, how could Miraak have been defeated by someone like you?"

_Miraak…_Valor thought, _yes…I know now…_Konahrik did not know, but he had just given Valor an idea. Valor did not rise; instead he used the one thing that Valor could thank Miraak for. He summoned the last of his strength and called out the words, "MUL QAH DIIV!"

Then, Valor felt he power Miraak had told him about coursing all over. He had never used the shout before, but he knew its power when he fought Miraak. He looked down and saw the gash in his chest began to heal, it burned slightly, but eventually it closed, new skin forming. The small cuts on his face began to heal as well, and Valor felt more powerful than ever before.

He rose very quickly, once again reaching for his blade. When he was once again back on his feet, he looked straight into Konahrik's mask. Valor looked more powerful than ever before, and Konahrik knew it. He had summoned the power he had learned in Solstheim and was now protected by the Dragon Aspect. Ethereal armor covered him from head to toe, and now Valor was ready.

"I see, you have mastered Miraak's shout, but you do not possess his-!" Konahrik began, but Valor was already running forward, newfound energy coursing through him and giving him strength. With brute force he sent his first strike, but Konahrik's flaming blade caught it and blocked the blow. Valor did not take too much time after that to release another strike to the legs, but Konahrik blocked that one too.

Then, the Priest sent his flaming sword flying, attempting to take another piece of Valor's soul. But the Last Dragonborn blocked the attack entirely, while also sending his fist forward at Konahrik's face. He knocked the Priest back, but Valor was not done; he punched him again, and then again, until the mask was cracked in the middle, then Valor reached forward, his hand gripping his enemies mask, and ripped it off. He threw the mask on the ground, and looked at Konahrik's true face.

His face was not that of any normal mortal man, yet he was not undead either. It was black and charred, as if it had been extremely burned once before. He had eyes, yet they were completely black and lacked color. Konahrik's mouth was missing, so Valor had no idea how he spoke. He looked at Valor with hate filling his eyes, and there were no lips to move as he spoke.

"So, you have seen my true face? Revel in it, for it will be the last thing you see!" he said, his hands lashing out to grab Valor by the neck, his hands squeezing as he held Valor. The Last Dragonborn could feel life slipping away, until Konahrik released him, and a familiar voice could be heard.

"We meet again, Dragonborn."

Valor was on the ground coughing, but he could still see the figure before him. His body looked different than it did years before, due to it being completely spectral, and looked to be formed of the same energy covering Valor. But even though a shock of fear ran through him, he knew that the one who spoke to him was under his service. Valor could recognize Miraak anywhere.

"I have been watching intently, waiting for when you would utilize your shout, finally allowing my spirit to manifest itself once again." Miraak said, "Although, sad to say, I am still bound to your will."

"Miraak?" Konahrik said, surprised, "What sorcery is this?"

"None, Konahrik, only the power of the Dovah." Miraak replied, "I have waited a long time to test my power against yours, to see which of us is superior."

_Wait…he's helping me? _Valor thought, yet he did not say anything.

"You hope to defeat me?" Konahrik said, "You will be sadly mistaken, I have already taken some of Valor's soul, do you wish for me to take yours as well?"

"My soul belongs to the Dragonborn," Miraak began, "My power is his now, for I no longer possess any free will. I will dispose of you because the Last Dragonborn bids it."

Then Valor watched, as Miraak drew an ethereal sword that looked identical to the one he wielded while battling Valor in Apocrypha. Tentacles lashed out as Konahrik and Miraak fought to the death, each trading blows. Miraak's blade managed to cut Konahrik in several places, yet not enough to cause any severe damage. Valor prayed for Miraak's victory, something he never thought he would do. And as he tried to rise, he picked up his sword again, and slowly approached Konahrik.

Miraak's blows were enough to tire out the Dragon priest, and yet there was not one clear winner. Konahrik could not land a hit, but Miraak did. Two of the most powerful beings in Tamriel dueled one last time to the death. The betrayer and the Savior fought. Valor wondered if Hermaeus Mora was laughing at them right now.

Then, Miraak lunged forward one last time, going to deal one last blow to end it all. But Konahrik was faster; he leapt to the side and stabbed forward, his blade protruding the ethereal spirit of Miraak. "No!" Miraak shouted, and then the blade Dragonfire began to absorb his soul. Konahrik laughed, "Your power goes to me and Hermaeus Mora!"

But Valor was directly behind him, and he raised his blade and sent the most powerful swing he had ever given straight at the Priest's neck. Konahrik screamed, and Valor dealt another, and another, and another, until he finally dealt the blow to end the conflict. Konahrik's head fell to the ground and rolled away after Valor's stroke was completed.

The sword was still stuck inside Miraak however, and in his last moments before his soul would be absorbed into the blade, he said to Valor, "I served you this time and lost, Dragonborn; yet I will live on forever in your memories." And then his ethereal body disappeared, and the blade dropped to the ground.

_I did it…I killed Konahrik. _Valor thought to himself as he studied the dead body before him, then looking to the blade, and then to the mask. He had conquered; his death was not destined after all. _Or at least it means that Konahrik was not the savior. _

Valor then searched for the wooden mask, and during that time he felt the power he had gained leave him, the ethereal armor was fading, as was his new energy. He grabbed the wooden mask that had brought him here, and knew it would lead him out. He donned the Dragon mask, and felt himself leaving that dreaded place. _I hope I never have to return. _

When he finally had left the dreaded place, Valor heard the sounds of battle all around him. He had returned to the present Labyrinthian, and could hear the clash of steel. He took a few steps forward, taking the mask off, but when the power of Dragon Aspect completely faded, he fell in exhaustion. He didn't want to move anymore. He had done what he was meant to do; now he wanted to rest. And as his eyes closed, he felt his consciousness leaving him, and the darkness creeping in.

**Well, this has been the longest chapter in the entire story, and rightfully so. I hope you guys enjoyed it, as I REALLY enjoyed writing this one. I have been waiting for this chapter for a long time.**

** In case any of you were confused about Miraak's return: He returned because Valor had absorbed his soul, and he returned as one of the Ancient Dragonborn that aid you if you are near death while using the Dragon Aspect shout. He was bound to the Dragonborn because he owns Miraak's soul, so I hope that cleared up a few question you all may have had.**

** Anyways, I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations, since it is probably what I would consider the ultimate climax of the story. **

** ASOIAF quote of the day: "Those are brave men, let's go kill them!" –Tyrion Lannister. **


	55. Mychael VII

Mychael

When Mychael had been taken from Winterhold and brought to Labyrinthian, he never thought the battle would be this intense.

When Legate Edward had stormed into Labyrinthian from the opposite side from the rest of the army, the clash of steel and the cries of the fallen drowned his ears. But it was when Prince Vaeril had fallen that the battle had truly begun. Men began to lose hope; many had been killed because they lacked the will to fight. Mychael was not among those people; he fought with ferocity, and gave the Draugr no mercy.

Mychael was in the thick of the conflict, the heart of Labyrinthian was where the battle was the most intense. Men screamed as they were slaughtered, and others cried out as they brought down the Draugr before them. Before, the sounds would have haunted Mychael for weeks, but after all that he had been through, it was common. It did not bother him anymore, he had seen what war could do, he witnessed it first-hand. He now understood.

As the sounds of battle filled the air around them, the clear victor was not certain. While many men had died after Prince Vaeril had fallen, there were still far too many that outnumbered the enemy. At least twenty-thousand men still lived on the Legion's side, while perhaps around seven still fought with the Draugr. Mychael hoped the Legion could pull it off, but one could not know what the Draugr had up their sleeve. They were deadly, and Mychael remembered the rider he had seen during the attack on Whiterun. _What happened to him?_

While Labyrinthian was clogged with battle inside, the walls also still held both Imperial and Draugr forces. Many Legionnaires had gone up the ladders and flooded the battlements until it was a matter of sheer luck and skill in the men fighting to know who would win. No longer did the enemies archers rain down arrows onto the Legion, now it was a fair game. Now they could win.

Mychael stood just near the barrow at the center of the ancient fortress. He had saw a man run in there not long before Prince Vaeril had been struck down, but he could not identify him. It mattered not to him though, whoever had gone inside probably had a good reason to do so. Mychael had to keep his attention on the battle before him, as it would require the best effort he could give.

While he and the Legate were near each other, they both struck down any enemy who opposed them. Still, Mychael could see men mourning over their Prince's death. Even Legate Edward looked saddened, but he kept it together, focusing more on fighting then his emotions. _The men loved him, _Mychael thought; _He would have been their Emperor. _

Still, the battle went on, and from the looks of it the legion would come out victorious. There were barely enough Draugr to fully populate the fortress, soon it would be so overrun that there would be no chance of defeat for the Legion. Most of the Draugr were encamped outside of the barrow, but there were a few that stayed atop the walls. None bothered to station inside the structures built by the ancients. Mychael had assumed that they would have taken advantage of the array of buildings that would have proved useful, but perhaps he was wrong.

His blade struck down many, and he was slowly losing the little energy he had from the journey. The journey from Winterhold to Labyrinthian was not a quick or easy one, especially in this type of weather. He did not regret coming though, as this would be a battle sung for years to come. _I wonder what they will name it, when it's all over. _

He heard cries of death and pain around him, as many of the soldiers had been cut down brutally, without mercy. Yet none of the Draugr took down Mychael or the Legate, as they both had been above average fighters from the looks of it. Mychael had never been s stranger to fighting with a blade, he favored it above all weapons. None were as light and dealt so much damage, the perfect weapon for a Legionnaire.

Arrows rained down, as the next wave of Imperial soldiers rushed in form the gates that had been rammed down not that long ago. Many Draugr fell, yet there were some that had been spared the pain and death, and evaded. Those that did near Mychael had been struck down by soldiers who wanted vengeance for their fallen Prince. Vaeril had inspired the men, and with his death came a new inspiration, the lust for vengeance. Mychael could see it in the men's eyes, even the legate's. They were angry, and Mychael understood. Vaeril had brought many hope, they saw him as the next great emperor when the time came. _He could have been great, yet he died saving us, people he didn't even know. _Mychael hoped his legacy would live on, as he deserved it.

The battle was coming to a close, as most of the Draugr atop the walls were already destroyed. He looked to the battlements and saw men cheering over their victory, and praising the gods for their help. It was then that the men down below had finally proved that the legion would not be messed with, as the numbers of the enemy grew fewer and fewer, until all that was left were the small amount of Draugr surrounding the barrow.

It seemed like they were guarding something, or someone. _How did that man get inside, with so many Draugr around it? _It was a question that Mychael would probably never know the answer to, yet he wanted to anyways. Around maybe one hundred Draugr all stood in a circle defending their barrow. And when the legion attempted to break that circle, they all sucked all the air they could, and released a power Mychael could never know. Many were blown back, although thankfully Mychael was not in range.

And then the Legionnaires towards the back raised their bows and drew back the strong, and with one volley sent into the air, dozens and dozens of Draugr had fallen. Then another wave came forward, and another, until all that was left was only a few, and when they tried to flee, the men had struck them down with such strength and anger that Mychael himself had become intimidated.

_They…there all gone…_Mychael thought, he could not fathom the thought. It had seemed as if this war would go on forever, yet with just a few volleys of arrows it was over. He couldn't believe it, and as he searched the fortress for more enemies, he knew it was true. Yet no one called out in joy, or cheered, most had saddened looks on their faces, and many tried to find the Prince's dead body.

_The war…its over…that was all of them…_The thought was too good to be true. He wanted to jump up in joy, but he controlled himself. And joined the men who were crowding over Vaeril's body. He didn't know the man, but the men loved him, and if he had not come, Skyrim surely would have fallen.

"Someone should contact the Emperor." Legate Edward has said once the battle was over.

"I wonder what he will say." Mychael said.

"Nothing," the Legate replied, "He usually does nothing when something important happens."

_They loved Vaeril more than their own Emperor. _Mychael thought, _But he died now, so who will they put their trust and faith in now? _

**Not much, but it's something. I'm expecting only around maybe five more chapters before this is finally finished. Maybe get in one more POV for the characters and then call it a day at last. Hope you enjoyed reading so far.**

** Can't find a quote, so good day to all, I hope this chapter wasn't too small or disappointing!**


	56. Valor VIIII

Valor

The Crow's stared at him from the branches, their red eyes would haunt the best of men, yet not him. Valor had dealt with many like these, even though he may not have realized it at the time.

There were dozens, yet they were divided and leaderless, each bowing to the great eye before them. But Valor looked away, he was no longer drawn in curiosity or fear, he was not scared anymore. And even as the tree darkened and began to die, he still felt no different, his eyes wandering the world around him.

It looked like Skyrim, as the trees were in the beginning were the same color as the ones in the Rift, multi-colored and beautiful. Yet the more time that went by, he noticed that the trees were dying, and the land had suffered. He could hear the distant crackle of flames, and the faint voices of ones far away.

And then he felt something in his hand, and looked down to see the one thing he wanted to stay away from as long as possible. Konahrik's blade, Dragonfire; was in his hands. And his body suddenly was out of his control, as he walked to the dying trees and cut them down with one swing each. Down they fell, while he continued until the forest was almost fully destroyed, except for only a few in the distance.

His sword fell from his hands, and he heard the sound of fire burning flesh as it thudded against the cold dirt. He reached down to grab it, yet when his hands touched the hilt he felt a burning sensation. Valor recoiled, and took a few paces backwards. He tried again a few moments afterwards, but his hand only burned even more.

_May he be rewarded for his service, as I am. _

The voice of Miraak had been gone for some time, but now it had returned. Valor had never thought he would have to see him again. Miraak's involvements in his dreams prior to the battle were extensive, but this was different. This dream so far had not been like the others.

The, finally Valor's hands gripped the hilt of the blade without a searing pain. He lifted the blade from the ground, and held it upright, staring at it suspiciously. He could hear voices whispering in his head at that moment, dark and terrible voices filled with hate, remorse, regret, and suffering. Then Valor himself felt his mind darken, and he felt just as sad and alone as the voices. _Help us! Help us! _They shouted, yet Valor could do nothing, only stare into the blade.

"He is always watching." A voice called out to the Last Dragonborn. "You think you have won, that you have evaded his plans, but you are wrong. He will never stop trying to find you, he will never fail. He sees the future and the past, what will happen and what could be. He knows all; you will never be safe again."

Then Valor felt an unimaginable pain and fell to his knees. Nothing had struck him, yet his body had reacted as if something did. It took a while for him to look upward and see Miraak standing down at him, no longer the ethereal spirit like before, but made of flesh. And Valor's blade was gone, he felt defenseless.

"What has fallen upon me will pass to you as well, Dragonborn. For our lord never forgives, and never forgets. If you sue for his knowledge then you have already sealed your own fate. Surrender and you shall earn his clemency, or else you have given up hope for your future."

"Mora has earned to further servitude from myself, tell him he may find a new champion to serve him." Valor replied.

"You thought as I do Dragonborn, yet even one like you must realize that Hermaeus Mora's tentacles will forever keep you in his grasp. I thought I could be rid of him, to end my service to him without fulfilling my end of the bargain or immense knowledge; I was a fool, but not as much as you. If you try to run he will chase you, if you try to hide he will find you, and if you try to fight he will kill you."

"Do you wish to convince me to surrender? Be off then, I will not stoop so low as to pledge my body and soul to one who holds his loyalty so cheaply. Tell Lord Mora that if he wishes to earn back my service, he may ask." Valor seemed to spit at Miraak, who stood in silence.

"Your arrogance in your abilities is what will earn you the same fate as I. If you were wiser you would beg for his forgiveness, you would pledge your blade to him forever, to walk his halls and libraries in his service till the sun dies and Nirn has fallen. Till Akatosh lay defeated and the divines destroyed, till the Daedra are accursed and forbidden to hold the souls of the foolish. If you wish to follow in my footsteps then you will only give Mora victory. He is a fickle master, and you and I both chose unwisely to pledge our service to him, but the past is irreversible. You are the Last Dragonborn, the final member of our kind; you must choose to act as the wise would."

"How would the wise act in my situation?" Valor asked.

"The opposite of what you hope to achieve is what the wise would tell you. Running will end in your death, hiding will end in your death, and fighting will end in your death. But if you choose to surrender and sue for his forgiveness, then you will evade the destiny fate has given you."

"You once said fate decreed that you would live and I would die, why should I believe anything you or 'fate' has anything to say?" Valor said.

"You think you are wise by questioning me, yet you only spiral further and further into the pit Hermaeus Mora has arranged for you. Fate has a crude way or arranging things, but nothing may stop it, should you choose to flee and challenge the will of Mora, it will only end in your death and the deaths of your loved ones."

"You speak nonsense, I will not pledge my loyalty to Mora anymore. That is final!"

Miraak seemed frustrated, as if he was truly trying to help the Dragonborn. He didn't say anything as it happened, he just faded away, and the rest of the world went with him. Valor was alone in the darkness; he felt cold, but didn't do anything about it, he just panned his head side to side to see if anything was around him. But he was unsuccessful, as all that was with him was the music of silence.

"Perhaps a glimpse of the future is what you desire." Another voice called out, yet this one was not Miraak, it sounded more threatening, like royalty, or divine. Then he saw a dragon come to him through the darkness, and while it landed it said, "Time is short, Dragonborn; enjoy it while you can, for something worse is coming. Something that will shape Tamriel's fate forever."

And the dragon went away, and instead he saw images flash by, many unrecognizable, yet others easy to understand. He heard the whispers again, instead this time they said, _Sons of Dragons…Dragonborn. _Over and over, while Valor looked at the scenes before him.

First he saw the blue palace of Solitude, a sight Valor had not laid his eyes upon in the longest of time. Yet something was wrong, and he saw a shadow above it, along with the sound of screams, the sound of a dagger leaving its scabbard, and a hand wrought in blood. He wanted to turn away, but he simply couldn't.

Then a cold wind passed over him, and Valor could hear the sound of thousands of soldiers marching, their boots beating against eh dirt. He could hear the call of the sea and men raising the sails, heading for war. Then the sound of wood burning, the clash of steel mingled with the cries of women and children. He could the sound of dragons and the crackle of dragonfire. Along with the battle-cries of warriors ready for battle.

Then, he saw the Dragonborn before him, all of them. First was Miraak with his mask, then St. Alessia, along with many of the Septim rulers. He saw unknown Dragonborn as well, full of people he had never heard of or seen before, that were forgotten in history due to their absence of heroic deeds. They all stared at him, some with approval, others with disappointment, and even a few with disgust.

_Sons of Dragons…Dragonborn…_

"Do not sue for peace and forgiveness, for that is what your master wishes of you. Fight, for it was always your true destiny from the beginning." The dragon said in the common tongue. "Now do you understand why you must fight?"

"The true war is coming." Valor said for him.

* * *

He had awoken during midday, his visions was blurry at first, and he was not sure where he was, but yet he knew he had been asleep or unconscious for a while, as nothing looked familiar to him. He tried to remember anything after he had defeated Konahrik, yet nothing popped into his head. He could hear voices around him, and he slowly turned his head. He could tell at that moment that he was on a bed inside a tent.

"The Emperor would be happy to know that the Dragonborn had come as well; you all should make plans to-!" Said a figure that looked like Legate Rikke, but stopped speaking when she noticed Valor had awoken.

"Legate! I didn't even notice you had awoken." Rikke said in amusement, while Valor tried to rise from his bed. He felt drained of energy, yet not in pain like he thought he would be.

Then he heard the voice of Serana right next to him, "What?" she said, until Valor turned his head to see her astonished face. She somehow had not noticed before that he was awake.

Her upper body lunged forward as if she had been pushed, yet the only thing that she did was connect their lips very quickly afterwards. Legate Rikke began to roll her eyes, yet Valor was not complaining. _How long have I been out? _

When she withdrew, Serana tried not to smile, but was failing miserably. She seemed genuinely glad to see him, which was something that made Valor feel good about himself. _Someone cares whether I live or die, that can't be said about the rest of Skyrim. _

"How long have I been asleep?" Valor asked.

"Asleep isn't the word, more like unconscious." Rikke began, "It's been two days since the battle, and this one here hasn't left your side since." She pointed to Serana.

"It seems you awoke at a good time, legate; Prince Vaeril's funeral will be in maybe a week." Rikke began, "Not only that, but it will be in Cyrodiil."

"How are we going to get to Cyrodiil in a week?" Valor asked.

"Horses, fast ones." Rikke said, and left Valor alone with Serana in the tent.

Valor turned to look at Serana, who seemed filled with joy and excitement. _She's so happy…I don't think I have ever seen her like this before._

"You seem excited." Valor said plainly.

She smiled and grabbed her wooden chair and dragged it further towards Valor's bed, staring at him all the while. Valor didn't say anything, although a smirk was on his face. That said enough to Serana however.

"I am excited." Serana said, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know, just never seen you like this before." Valor replied.

"Oh," Serana's smirk went away, replaced by a saddened look. "I guess you're so accustomed to seeing me complain about being lonely, and looking sad that my parents hate each other and probably hate me too. Sorry if I surprised you."

"Wait…what?" Valor had an utterly confused expression on his face, not only that, but he felt incredibly stupid for some reason. _Wait…is she sad now…or pretending? Cause it's very convincing. _

Her smile came again, "Wow, I must be a good actor."

"Perhaps you can perform in plays for the Emperor when we are in Cyrodiil." Valor said.

"What's Cyrodiil like?" Serana asked. "I've never been there."

"Big, lots of forests, and the people sound awfully similar. Everyone's voice sounds alike is what I mean. Not only that, but it was destroyed pretty badly during the Great War, ever since then it hasn't been the same." Valor replied.

"Oh, sounds interesting." Serana replied, her face looking more serious. "Is there anything you want to talk about? Maybe what happened during the fight?"

Valor didn't want to talk about it, as he wanted the memory to be gone from his head. He never wanted to remember the struggle, and think of the pain he had felt when he dueled the last Dragon Priest, and when he defeated him with the help of Miraak. "No."

"You sure?"

"I won, that's all you need to know." Valor said, sounding harsher than he had meant to. Serana gave up, slightly taken aback, and leaned into her chair. Valor wanted to take the words back and say it less harsh.

"Sorry, I just don't want to talk about it." Valor said. As much as he would like others to revel in his glory, he would prefer for that memory to be wiped away. If it were up to him, he would forget everything about Konahrik or the battle, especially the return of Miraak.

"It's fine, you didn't want to talk about it, that's all I need to know." Serana tried to smile, "We should get ready to leave, we won't get to Cyrodiil by just sitting here."

And it was then that a few hours later they were off upon their horses, heading for the seat of the Imperial Empire. Valor wondered what the Emperor would say when he met him, or what he would do.

**Another Valor chapter, what a surprise! I hope that you guys at least like reading about him, as he is my personal fav character. **

**Not much, but its something. Didn't write in several days due to homework, so that's my reason for not updating.**

** Hope you guys at least enjoyed it, I did. Always nice to write anything about Serana, and I like writing about those dreams too. **

** Hope you guys enjoyed!**

** (No quote today, as I am too lazy to find one). **


	57. Serana II

Serana

It had taken around a week to arrive at the Imperial city, even though for most it might take around a month. But they stopped little, and with their little numbers the journey had been quick and easy. Serana had not felt tired, since she had done little herself. Valor had offered for them to ride together, which Serana accepted graciously. She had to do little, other than talk with him when Valor had got bored and needed to speak.

When they had entered Cyrodiil through the north, Serana had not even realized it. It looked very alike to Skyrim that it had taken Valor telling her they were in Cyrodiil for her to find out. But the further they went in, and by the time they passed Bruma, Serana could finally tell the difference.

Cyrodiil was beautiful, as they got closer and closer to the Imperial City, the m=number of lush forests, green hills, and wide lakes and bays had been numerous. Serana had lived in Skyrim her whole life, which made her accustomed to the cold, harsh winters. Cyrodiil on the other hand was warm, which to Serana was very hot.

When they had finally gotten to the Imperial City, Serana had been unimpressed. She had heard of the splendor and majesty of the capitol of the Empire for years, and had longed to see it. But this…this showed the scars and burdens of war, the troubles of conflict. Even the people seemed discouraged, none smiled and the ones that did were only the children. _This place is miserable. _Serana had seen more happiness from her father, _and that's saying something._

But it was when the men and women gathered and saw the body of their Prince that she had saw tears. Words had spread fast throughout all of Tamriel that Prince Vaeril had fallen in battle. Men mourned for their future emperor, and women cried and mourned in sorrow. _They loved him…he was to be their Emperor…their future._

The gates opened, and let the few dozen people in. Rikke was in first, followed by Valor and Serana, and then came the rest of the men. Legate Dain had been left behind in order to keep order and fix up some of the things left going on in Skyrim. They needed to find out what to do with some of the cities that remained, such as Markarth and Windhelm. They were able fortresses that could be used to assign Legionnaires to, and perhaps be used for other reasons.

The horses trotted into the city slowly, while the men and women stared. Serana looked back and saw the large wagon that was carrying Prince Vaeril's body. It had not begun to reek of death yet, nor had the body began to decay. The men found it quite odd, as did Serana. _There should be a smell of death, or his body should be rotting, or something._

On the roads inside the city there were dozens and dozens of Imperial soldiers lined up. Serana looked around, taking in the area around her. The city did not look as bad on the inside as it did on the outside. There were alchemy shops, armories, magical emporiums, fighting clubs, bars, and other establishments. The city on the inside looked to be made of white stone, but some of it shone like marble, making the city look beautiful. _This is the city I imagined, but you couldn't tell from the outside._

"Look," Valor poked her side, "It's the Emperor."

Serana saw him, an elderly man clad in fine robes of blue and gold colors. He looked as if the world's weight was on his shoulders, and a few wrinkles dominated his face. The hair on his head had turned grey, with only a few strands of black left. The closer they got, the quicker she noticed that the Emperor was not crying, neither did he look saddened. _His son is dead…isn't he sad?_

It had been Legate Rikke that had gotten off her horse first, and then Valor, then Serana hopped down from atop the steed, and watched as the rest of the horsed soldiers came in. Vaeril's wagon came forward, the horses stopped soon after and everyone was inside. The gates closed after that, and Serana snapped out of her train of thought and scurried to catch up to Valor again.

The Emperor slowly walked forward, greeting Legate Rikke and Valor both, while Serana slowly approached from behind, watching.

"Ah, my lady, it is good to know that the war in Skyrim has not taken too many familiar faces." Titus Mede II said.

"I am glad as well, although it greaves me to say that General Tullius did not live to come here today." Rikke replied.

"What a shame. He will be dearly missed, but I am sure he is glad that he met an honorable death in battle." The Emperor said, then turning his attention to Valor. "Ah, Legate Valor! I have waited a long time to meet you; word has reached my ears of your bravery and courage."

"I have waited long to see you as well, my lord. They make us swear an oath to you when we join the Legion, yet it helps to know who we are fighting for as well." Valor said.

"I can assure you, your service to the Legion will be richly rewarded. I can gift you lands, titles, anything you desire." Titus said.

"Let us speak of that later," Valor began, "For now, we have grievous things to discuss. I am afraid your son was defeated and fell in battle, my lord."

"This I know." Titus said, showing no ounce of sadness or depression in his voice. "When first we got word our Vaeril's demise, the whole Elder Council began to weep. I too had shed tears that day, and have waited for you to bring him to me, so that he may join the rest of the Emperors of old."

"He would have been a great Emperor, my lord; it is a shame he lost his life so quickly." Rikke said.

"Aye, and I grieve for him every day, it seems all of my children have passed into the next life. Perhaps it is a sign from the gods that my line will not last." Titus' voice began to sadden.

"Nonsense, I am sure you will have even more sons to further your legacy." Valor said.

"It doesn't matter. Whether I have sons or not, there will always be an heir to the Dragon Throne. If I die, my brother shall become my heir, and perhaps he may succeed where I failed in keeping his children alive long enough to succeed him."

Nobody had anything to say about that. Serana saw Valor and Rikke's faces, and she knew that they could think of no response that would be beneficial to the conversation.

"Anyways, bring him to the Bastion, as the White-Gold tower is in no shape for such an event. We will hold the funeral right now, come with me; it is on the other side of the city. It is quite the long walk however; we can talk about your reward for your service on the way."

**Not much, but as you see the story will be ending very soon. Actually, the last "Chapter" as you say is the next one, although there will be an Epilogue, so it's not done yet. **

** I hope this story has lived up to your expectations so far, and if you could I would appreciate it if you guys could tell me what your favorite part was. SO that maybe in future stories I can try to include something similar :). **


	58. The Last Dragonborn

The Last Dragonborn

"Dragonborn, I have a proposition for you, and I hope you will accept, as payment for your service to the Legion."

"What is it?" Valor asked.

"I am proposing, to name you my heir." Titus said.

_What? _Valor thought. _His heir…but that would mean…_if the Emperor named Valor his heir, then he would succeed to the throne after Titus is dead. Valor never imagined himself having so much authority.

"My lord…I am unsure what to say." Valor began.

"You need not say anything. Prince Vaeril was my heir, and now he is dead. But you are Dragonborn, and it is your right to sit the Dragon Throne, to keep the realm safe to rule the Empire after I am gone."

"But what of your brother? I thought he was to be your heir?" Valor asked.

"My brother couldn't rule a small cottage, I would be an idiot to hand over the largest Empire Tamriel has ever seen to him. No, I entrust this throne only to you, as Akatosh and the divines told me in my dreams." Titus Mede said.

"What dreams?" Valor asked.

"They showed me visions while I slept, of a dragon coming to my city. I thought it would be a true dragon that would bring destruction, but now I realize it was you. Then I heard the words of Akatosh, 'He is to be your successor, to finally bring hope and peace to Tamriel' ever since then, I have poured over books and summoned wizards to tell me the meaning of these dreams, yet none had an answer. But now I know, you will be my heir, and when I am gone and rotting in the ground, you will rule in my place."

_I never wanted to be an Emperor, but now that he offers it…_Valor didn't know what to say, Valor looked behind him to see Serana and Rikke, both of whom seemed to be as surprised as he was. Serana gave him a face that said, "Accept!" but he wasn't sure. He had never led anything other than an army, let alone an entire Empire.

"I see the contemplations in your face, Dragonborn. Do not worry; I have no doubt that our meeting was the will of the divines. I also have no doubt that they planned this all along, for a new line of Emperors to rule, a line of the Dragonborn." Titus said.

"I…I still don't know what to say…" Valor struggled to let the response leave his tongue.

"Accept! It would bring hope to my heart, and perhaps you can bring honor to an Empire when I could not. I cannot promise you that it will be easy, but now that my son is dead, I see no better choice."

Then after a lot of struggle, the words finally escaped his lips, "I would be honored…my lord."

"Good, although I am sure my brother will be upset when he learns, he must understand my reasoning. You will rule, and may you have many sons to further your legacy." Titus gave a quick look to Serana, as if saying "Get started."

"Now, we must all go, and meet everyone else outside the bastion, no doubt they have been waiting for us." The Emperor said at last, and led the three out of the small confined room.

The doors were not far away, and when the Emperor had been the one to open them, the Imperial City had been back in their site. _I will rule here one day, _Valor thought, _this will be my home soon. _Serana was beside him, and Legate Rikke was lagging behind. Serana gave him a light tap on the shoulder, and Valor turned to face her, while the Emperor and Legate Rikke kept on.

"You're going to be the Emperor?" she asked.

"Guess so." Valor said.

"So…what does that mean for us?" Serana asked.

"I don't know…whatever we want it to mean." Valor said.

Serana had a slight smirk on her face, but made no reply to what he had said. "Let's go, don't want to keep the Emperor waiting." And with that Serana walked forward, and Valor followed close behind. He turned around to see Legate Rikke, who gave him a nod. Then he walked forward, his eyes scanning the city. It was beautiful, but a few buildings showed the scars of war. Aside from that, it was far more majestic than anything in Skyrim.

A crowd of people were surrounding the Bastion, some with tears in their eyes. The building was large, but not as awe-inspiring as the remnants of the White-Gold tower. The tower looked run-down from the Great war, but it was still a symbol of how powerful the Empire had once been. How strong it used to be, and how weak it had become. _An Empire I will inherit. _

When the Emperor, Valor and the rest had gone through the crowd, Valor could see the faces of those that mourned for their fallen prince. Men cried, women cried, even some children cried. "Why?" some shouted out to the Gods, and Valor didn't have an answer for them. _I don't know…he died for his sister, and for his Empire. _

The body of Prince Vaeril had been set on top of a stack of firewood. Valor and the Emperor stood next to each other not ten feet away from it. When Valor gave Titus an odd look, he responded. "When the Emperors passed their bodies would be given to the flames, as a symbol of the lighting of the Dragonfires, and their sitting on the Dragon Throne."

Valor understood, and when the Priest of Arkay came up to the pyre, dressed in the orange robes that most of his kind wore, Valor was ready. The man carried a torch in his hand, and walked over and gave it to the Emperor, who accepted graciously.

"Here we gather to join in mourning over one lost too soon. Prince Vaeril was a kind, just, and great man, but it seems the Gods had no more use for him, and brought him up with them to live in Aetherius forever." he began.

"Do not weep, for Akatosh will always remember the Imperial Empire, and will spare us from destruction even if we lack an heir to lead us in the future. Prince Vaeril will be remembered for his valor, courage, and love for his people. His sacrifice will be sung for ages, remembered in song forever. May he never leave our memory, and live on inside all of us."

The citizens began to cry even more, shouting out in sorrow for the one they thought was their future. The true Emperor they had been waiting for. _What will they think when I ascend to the Throne…if I ever do?_

"My lord, will you light the pyre, so Prince Vaeril may join the Emperors of old?"

Titus Mede II nodded, and took a few slow paces towards the funeral pyre. He hesitated at first, staring at his son's dead body. Valor could not see any tears, but he did look quite saddened by his loss. Valor felt terrible. _He could have lived, and been a great Emperor. _Yet Valor knew something bigger was going on. There _had _to be a reason why this had happened, why all of this had taken place. Valor may not have known it at the time, but something greater was going on.

Titus Mede II finally set down his torch onto the pyre, and with one stroke and a few moments, a small flame had started. Valor stared at it, and watched it grow slowly. Something was different about that fire, it represented hope. There will always be hope for the Empire, even if there was no other Mede to inherit the throne. _Maybe when I ascend, they will love me as well._

And that's what they did for many minutes, watching as flames consumed the pyre and Vaeril's body. The crackle rang through Valor's ears, and he could still see the scene when he closed his eyes. The cries were innumerous, as the last of Prince Vaeril's existence in this world was fading away. Yet Valor did not mourn, he did not cry, nor was he sad. All he did was stare into the flames, his eyes never leaving them.

**Its been a long journey, and now it is almost over. This is the last "Chapter" although an Epilogue is still to come. But I want to say my thanks to everyone right now, so lets get started.**

** First I would like to thank Stormer, for providing me with some very good ideas. I'm not sure where you went, and I hope I didn't offend you in some way, but thanks for the well needed help.**

** Next I would like to thank Jake Flood, for being one of the ones who I could count on giving constructional criticism. Hope you liked the story, and I thank you for everything.**

** Next would be BD99, for writing the greatest fanfiction I have ever read, and being the original inspiration to write this story. Way to go, and keep on doing what your doing!**

** Next is Darkrai6543, for providing very good advice and also providing some valuable insight. I hope you liked the story, and this 'ending' was satisfactory.**

** Next is Duesal, for reviewing almost every chapter, and making me feel very good about myself. Valor is the heir now, so I hope you're satisfied, and I hope you enjoyed the story.**

** To Trap3er, for asking why I kill everybody, and me not having much of an answer. Also for making the "Ermagherd! Review about Akatosh, thanks for the support my friend.**

** To DunedainRanger, you have an awesome `name and I thank you for reviewing and reading my story. Sorry if my grammar and typos are terrible and distracting. I should really start editing and revising my work from now on.**

** And last but not least to Zimexus, for saying I am the greatest author on this website. You have no idea how good that makes me feel, and I hope this story lived up to your expectations. PS: you should make a Fanfiction account so we can talk.**

** And also I would like to thank anyone who reviewed, favorite, followed or even read. I thank you all for the support, and I hope this story was good enough and lived up to expectations. If you would like to keep in touch with me then PM me, I will always reply, unless you make fun of Stannis…**

** Keep an eye out for any possible…oh idk…stories, one-shots, or *Cough* Sequels *Cough*. **

** One more chapter to go. **


	59. Epilogue

Epilogue

"The war is over at last, thank the Gods." Elisif said upon her throne.

When Erikur and the rest had received word that the final battle at Labyrinthian had been won, everyone was ecstatic. Erikur himself had even been happy, and that did not come often. The only thing that brought him happiness was money, and Bosmer women.

_Elisif did nothing, as always. _Erikur wished nothing more than for someone to put Elisif in her place. She was clueless in battle, politics, and governing, she relied of Falk Firebeard and General Tullius for everything. _But Tullius is dead, and if Falk isn't careful…_Erikur had been a Thane for a long time, and he could tell what was going on in the court. Someone wanted Falk out, and Erikur was certain he knew who. _Bryling seems suspicious; no doubt she would stab me and Falk in the back to get closer to the Queen._

And yet Erikur had been the best of them, he did not gain the title of Thane by sitting on a wooden chair and waiting for someone to give it to him. He had done many things, betrayed many people, and backstabbed others to get in the position he was in today. _And I would do it again. _

"We should have a celebration planned, a festival to honor the victory of the Legion." Elisif said, her voice full of delight.

"Aye, a great idea, my Queen." Falk said, "Should I summon the Bards and tell them we shall have a celebration?"

"Nothing would make me happier, we shall honor the fallen and the living this week. As well as rejoice the name of the Dragonborn!" Elisif said.

_The Dragonborn…_Erikur had never liked him; he walked around the courts with no approval as if he was a Thane, yet he lacked any political power. He spoke with the Queen, often when he would come by; it was as if the two were best friends. He got along with Falk as well, and even Sybille Stentor seemed to like him. But he never spoke to Erikur, never paid any attention to him. Not that Erikur wanted it after all; he did not need the friendship of a dragon. _Eventually after a while, the dragon soon loses it flame, and then it is powerless. _

"My Queen, do you require my presence any longer?" Erikur asked, he hoped she had not summoned him to announce a festival.

"That will be all, Erikur. You may go about your business." Elisif said.

_She summoned me for this? _Erikur could think of many different things he could be doing at this moment than gracing High Queen Elisif with his presence. He had someone to meet afterwards, and had been deprived of time to prepare because Elisif wanted to have a festival.

_Then again, that will mean she will have her attention on other things than myself. _The Queen had kept her eye on him lately, as if she did not trust him. _Good, let her not trust me. She would be wise not to._

Erikur turned around quickly and went down the steps inside the Blue Palace, not turning back. Bryling followed, but went her own way. John had been last, but he too turned to the door, and was headed to his home. Erikur followed, he had a meeting, something more important than the High Queen and her festival.

When he went outside, he could see the streets of Solitude were busier than ever. Many survivors had come here from their holds. He saw Aela the Huntress pass by, and remembered when jarl Balgruuf had arrived form the destruction of Whiterun. Some more had come, such as Sellswords and travelers that knew the roads were no longer safe during the war. _How many will leave after the war is over, I wonder?_

Erikur gave Aela a nod and kept walking; he had business to take care of that did not concern the Companions. John was already inside his own house, and Bryling had gone to hers. Erikur thought stopped outside his door, wondering why the person was late. _I hope she did not forget about the meeting._

His hands searched his pockets for the key, but when he turned the nob he noticed the doors were open. He stepped inside his house, and looked around suspiciously. He remembered locking his door before he left to go to the Blue palace, yet now it was unlocked. _Someone is here._

"It's me, Erikur."

Erikur could hear the voice of a woman, and stood up straight. _She was already here. _He saw her near his table, cloaked in black robes so that nobody would recognize her. Erikur understood why, if anyone had known who she was then she may have been killed along the road, or mugged.

"I believe we have business to discuss." She said.

"We do." Erikur said, walking slowly over to his own wooden table. His hands wrapped around a wooden chair as he dragged it towards him, sitting down to face the hooded woman.

"Skyrim is weak, very weak." She said.

"Aye, the war has left us damaged." Erikur replied.

"And Elisif is still Queen…nobody has challenged her?" she asked.

"No, although I wish someone will. But as for now, she is still High Queen of Skyrim."

"Good, that will help with the plans." The woman said. "They say the Dragonborn has been named the heir to the Throne."

"Aye, I heard. With Prince Vaeril's death, Mede had no more heirs. It was his only choice." Erikur said.

"That will only be a complication, when Titus dies then he will receive the throne. The Empire cannot have another line of Dragonborn emperors."

"Dragonborn or not, the Empire can still be defeated." Erikur said.

"Maybe, but with him the Empire's forces will have a newfound hope in their leader. We can't let that happen, he must be dealt with as soon as possible." The woman said.

"What of the Emperor's brother? What will you do about him?" Erikur asked.

"He worries me as well. He will bring about a lot of trouble if not stopped, he was deadly in the Great War, but he will be silenced this time." The woman said.

"I hope so, I heard he kept the Dominion at bay during the battle at Anvil, and he helped reclaim the Imperial City. He is a dangerous foe; I hope your leaders know what they are doing." Erikur said.

"You have no need to worry about what we do about him. He lacks the strength alone to pose any threat, we shouldn't worry too much."

"I'm not worried at all; it's you that should be worried. If the Empire can't be defeated then it's your head on the chopping block, not mine." Erikur smirked.

"Always looking out for yourself, I should not be surprised. You are a politician after all; it would be unwise to trust you." She said.

"You have no idea how right you are." Erikur began, "But In this case you will find me very trustworthy, as we both are in need of something. I need money, and you need my influence in court."

"Your right, that's why I have not killed you at this very second," She said.

"No need to get nasty, now let's keep this civil." Erikur said.

"I am afraid I can't, as I must be leaving now. Keep an eye on Queen Elisif, make sure nobody challenges her, her being on the throne is crucial for my plans." The woman got up from her chair and headed towards the door.

"I will do what I must, Elenwen." Erikur said.

The High elf turned towards him, "Aye, you will."

**Its finally done.**

** Thanks to everyone for reading, and please let me know if you haven't of what you thought of the story.**

** Keep an eye out for a sequel. **


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